


TAINTED GLORY

by FantasylandwithZee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 36,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasylandwithZee/pseuds/FantasylandwithZee
Summary: what is love but to give in to temptations,to resist boundaries and regulations,the wise rushing after you with their sharp teeth and rough ropes.what do they call those pallid men who can no longer remember their name,but each other's,and the lips and the secret sonnets between their heartbeats?///Zain, a wealthy young man. An obssessed father, Hashim. A naive sister, Aliya and a no-less-than-a-lover step-brother, Zakariyah. Fearless and vulnerable.Harry is the youngest among his four brothers: Jacob, William, Benjamin and Sebastian. No parents, born among the cold-hearted Middle class. Tender and fierce.One night, when two stars collide, the resulting clash can only disrupt the universe's stillness. A burst of colourful fireworks, debris everywhere, the birth of a new life in death.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING
> 
> contains aspects of violence, death, abuse, lgbt, foul language, religion, class disparity etc so if any of this makes you uncomfortable pls leave now...thank u
> 
> heavily inspired by the drama 'Khuda aur Mohabbat' and Troye Sivan's 'Heaven' + 'What a heavenly way to die' + 'Trilogy (wild, fools, talk me down) songs

SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAY IT SPARKLES

Lendann was quite the city. Wide avenues and backstreets, foggy street lamp posts and a busy air. It was for the most affluent, the wealthy, handsome type whose face and pockets meant more than the heart.

Harry was new here. Wood among metal if that made sense at all. Confused too and perhaps a little guilty, but no. He would not let that come between him and his hard work. No beautiful faces or heavy pockets for distraction. Nope.

He walked along the main street, hair falling over his eyes to escape from the judgemental stare of dapper men and jewelled women. He was nothing. Dust under their feet was the most he could ever be.

The wind rushed to bite his bare arms. He had no idea weather in Lendann would be this harsh, otherwise he'd bring a jacket at least. He rubbed his arms to create some sort of warmth but nothing was helping. He guessed, it'd be okay since the house he was supposed to work at was not that far now.

At least that's what the gps told him.

Above him, the sky morphed into a snake. Nasty, dark and oh so obnoxious. Back at the city he lived in, Kardishire, the weather was always perfectly bright. Cotton candy clouds, golden, blazing suns and infinitely vast skies. Romance was in the air. In rosey petals, autumn hues and the old scent of antiquated tragedy books.

He wished he had stayed back but Benjamin thought it would wonderful if he experienced the Maliks' benevolence first hand. In Benjamin's theatrically gestured words, the Maliks were the the epitome of abundant love and kindness. Like Gods for the ordinaries. Harry wished it was to easier to believe that.

Gate number 12. He was here. Finally. Frozen feet and numb fingers but he was here at last. He rang the bell, waiting for the camera light to turn green so he knew he was being watched. "Harry Styles." He spoke into the mic plugged just under the cam. The gate vibrated, then unlocked.

Harry took a deep breath and entered. Here goes nothing. He felt a weird prickly feeling at the back of his neck. His palms were sweaty, his heartbeat faster than it had ever been. That...was just a warning. Harry had long learnt to never ignore his body's messages, but Benjamin was so insistent and Harry didn't really want to upset the older. It wouldn't end well.

A guard stood by the door waiting for him. His grey and black uniform stood out in front of the milk white walls, a metal detector in his hand. Harry smiled politely but the guard didn't, and Harry had to stop himself from muttering something wrong. He stuck with rolling his eyes for the time being. He let the man scan his body and when everything was fine, he finally set foot inside, relieved that he was entering into a warmer place. The wind was a greedy monster here.

Of course the house was big. Well...not as big as Harry had expected from such a well-known family, but compared to his tiny home back in Kardishire, it was much better.

The corridor contained a dozen family pictures of mister Hashim's 2 wives and the respective children. Benjamin and William made him memorize every single family member of the Maliks, so Harry didn't end up embarrassing himself in any way.

Hashim was the only son of Parveen and Jamal. He was a bad politician but Benjamin believed otherwise, of course. Everyone knew he had drinking issues, but nobody ever dared to stand against him. Exactly because of his status. His oldest child went by the name of Zain. Nobody knew much about that dude other than the fact that he was insanely handsome, and incredibly smart. Like a mathematician type of smart. And obviously, there were rumours around him too, but Harry didn't remember much from Benjamin's fast speech.

Next was Aliya, the goth girl with a line of guys after her. She was a hard to impress kind of woman, who tried her hardest to act like an anti-men, leader of the wolf pack...kind of. Well, Harry didn't know how to explain it. He didn't know her actually. These were all his brother Benjamin's words.

Then came the notorious Zakariya. Everyone, and really everyone had something to say about this man. Drug dealer. Perhaps, an addict. A softie too, an ugly crier. Apparently, Zakariya had cried once in public, yelling nonsensical words into the mic his father had been speaking into just moments ago. Harry really couldn't care less.

Talk of the devil and the devil appears. "And...who are you?" Harry stared at Zakariya. Damn it, he was fucking sexy. Zakariya had an unlit cigarette clutched between his teeth, a light, dark beard and silver eyes that really, really left Harry speechless.

"Eh, I'm-"

"C'mon Zak, gimme my cigarette back!" Zakariya turned towards the stairs. A shirtless Zain stood at the top, hands closed into fists. Harry blinked. Several times. Was this really happening right now?

Harry had thought he'd meet the old man first and then everyone else. One. By. One. Not all at the same time, looking like that. And honestly...why shirtless?

Zain came downstairs, pushing Zakariya back with a hand on his chest. The latter just smirked, the cigarette still between his teeth and the way Zain looked at him, Harry had no idea how to feel about it. Was there something else going on that Benjamin forgot to tell Harry?

"You fucker." Zain muttered, completely unaware of a third man between them.

Zakariya winked mischievously. "Take it or leave it. Your choice."

Harry's lips were parted, eyes wide. He was clueless and confused and kind of weirded out, but oh well...every family had some abnormalities, right?! He decided he was in the right position to break off their eye contact, and actually get into the house so he could talk to mister Hashim. The sooner he could get his work going, the sooner he'd be able to leave Lendann with its strange shades.

Harry cleared his throat, twice. Louder on the second time. Both brothers turned to him, still with that unnerving calmness about them. Zain looked at him from top to bottom, finally pulling away from Zakariya. He straightened himself, eyes focusing onto Harry's. "Who is he?"

Well, hello Harry was right in front of him. Zain didn't have to side eye Zakariya and ask the question so indirectly.

"That was what I was asking him, before you arrived and threatened me with a weak, little punch. Loser."

Zain rolled his eyes, and turned around, moving up the stairs again. He stopped midway, rotating his head sideways and looking back at Harry over his shoulder. "Just give him what he wants and come up. We have work to do." 

He was gone. Harry blinked baffled. Just once for now. "So?" Zakariya called his attention.

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion before, recalling. "Oh, eh...I'm Harry. Ehm, Benjamin Styles' brother."

"Ah. Well, look at that. The flower among thorns."

"Ehm-"

"Zakariya. And that...was Zain." Zakariya knew, that Harry already knew that. He would not be Benjamin's brother otherwise. Nevertheless, he thrusted his hand forward, and when Harry reciprocated the handshake Zakirya kissed his knuckles.

Harry's eyes remained opened wide, wondering what the heck was going on. Why would Zakariya be this bold? With a man, and not that Harry wasn't flattered but, he had to keep out of trouble and right now this man in front of him seemed like Satan.


	2. PEACH COTTON CANDY AND THE STARS

Hashim was a very unbothered man, from what Harry could gather. He didn't even spare a glance at an awaiting Harry upon his arrival, and did not even remind Harry that he didn't have to stay standing by the door.

"Benjamin was a good man." _Everyone is a good man. "_ So you're his brother. Last one, yes?" _You are tired of our_ _family_ _. Noted._ "Good. We don't have many positions left. It's either the garden or the kitchen." Hashim looked up, this time with full focus and full intention to actually _speak_ to Harry. "Choose wisely."

He stood up. This wasn't that big of a decision to be so wise about. Harry smiled politely and interrupted Hashim's exit from the damp office. "Kitchen." Hashim smiled back, but his curl of the lips was a lot more plastic than Harry's. Well...glad they could come to mutual agreement that neither of them really wanted to see each other. Hashim should mind his own business, and Harry his.

"Great. I'll let Natasha know."

Natasha, the personal assistant slash Hashim's extra marital affair. They had some amazing family dynamics here, apparently. But hey, who was Harry to judge. They may actually be the _epitome of abundant love and kindness_. This was just the first day.

Natasha had been nice enough and not so talkative which was good. The less Harry heard, the less likely he would be to get into trouble. She showed him the house, the kitchen and the bathrooms and the bedrooms of course. She very sternly pointed out that Zain's bedroom was off limits at all times, unless the man himself said otherwise. And judging by Zakariya's wide open door, _that_...would not be off limits.

Harry returned to his bedroom once Natasha was done and out of sight. The rain had started coming down in long, silver lines, the windows fogging up. Since there was still time for dinner, Harry began by removing his clothes from his backpack, to place them in the closet where his black chef uniform was already hung. Hashim or Natasha must have sent someone here while he was busy exploring, and digesting all the information. 

It took some time to unpack, even though he really didn't have much in the backpack, but he had the attention span of less than a toddler's and he kept getting distracted. The view from the window was so mysterious but ethereal, straight out of a beautiful movie. The mist hung over the green hills, far away. Harry could see exactly where the hills ended and where this buzzing city began. 

He threw himself on the bed, the mattress unexpectedly harder than he'd expected. It wasn't too bad but he knew he'd have trouble sleeping on it for a while at least. Anything that wasn't his own left him in utter discomfort. Harry wasn't big on changes either. Benjamin hadn't even called or texted yet. So much for caring huh. _ask me if i've reached yet._

_I know u have. How r u finding them?_

_truth?_

_ofc_

_weird. with a lot of emphasis_

_who isn't_

Harry narrowed his eyes at the screen, before sighing in annoyance and putting the phone away. What was up with these Maliks anyways? They seemed to have no morals, or set boundaries. Everyone was sucking up to everyone, between themselves, family mingling with family. Perhaps that was the result of an alcoholic, unfaithful father who got bored with life's constants every other day. Flashes of his rehabilitation period seized his brain for a few moments. He shook his head against them. He was a different person now. No relapses. 

7 o'clock. He should get started on preparing dinner. If he spent any more time thinking about this family and their connections, he'd go insane. As he came down the stairs, a young woman entered through the door. She had a lollipop in her mouth, hands covered with those black leather, fingerless gloves people thought were super cool and edgy. She looked at him with the same eerie calmness about her as the brothers, and Harry stared at her dumbfounded. How come this family was so pleasing to look at? There was no way all the members were equally graceful and charismatic. 

"May I know who you are, or are you planning to just stare at me like a creep?" Her voice was unusually deep, carried an odd texture Harry couldn't really explain. Extremely attractive, he must say.

"I'm...Harry. Benjamin's brother." Her eyes twinkled at Benjamin's mention, Harry resisted a frown. 

"Oh. Cute." She began walking towards him, simultaneously untying her wet hair from the ponytail. Her make up was still flawless, and Harry didn't know much about it but it was all sparkly and dark in a Victorian era kind of way. The maroon lipstick was doing wonders for her. 

She stopped right in front of him, a little too close. "Tell him I said hi." She winked and smiled. The first genuine smile Harry had seen all day long. He nodded, reciprocating the gesture. She sidestepped him and with her bag dragging along the stairs, disappeared into her bedroom just next to Harry's. She was...sweet. 

The kitchen was quite spacious, enough that Harry wondered if they actually needed this much space for a kitchen. They could have built another room or something like that, but the rich _loved_ unnecessary attention. Someone else seemed to be awaiting him there. One certain lad by the name of Mason. He introduced himself to Harry so brightly, Harry was worried he'd tear his muscles smiling this hard and wide. "There are a few things they eat that I'm not sure you'll know about. So, for a few days I've been given the job to teach you them."

They started on the dough for the _parathas_ , Mason giving him step by step guidance on everything but dough. He talked too much about Aliya and the shitty weather here and Hashim's particular taste in women. A gossiper. Harry had to strain to focus, watching carefully on what Mason was doing, trying not to miss any important steps while the latter went on and on about the Maliks' legacy. Harry could not care less, but he wasn't impolite and so just swallowed down the annoyance. 

The chicken curry, Harry _knew_ how to make. Benjamin had fallen in love with it when he had gone on an expedition with Hashim and Zakariya for six months. A _very enlightening experience it was Harry. Mr. Hashim was the greatest supporter I have ever encountered. And his son, though a little reckless Harry, was one intelligent man. He knew the ins and outs of all the sites we visited. A walking, talking history guide_. Harry must admit, Benjamin was a wonderful talker. He described everything so well, he could as well be speaking about a cold-blooded murder, and Harry would think it was magic. Perhaps, that was why Benjamin and books went along so well.

The table was set and the chatter in the living room was getting louder as the enthusiasm grew. Mason lit up the candles, sending Harry to call everyone for dinner. The living room was dimly lit, everyone's laughter ceasing when Harry came into the room. He stood there awkwardly, hands behind him. "Dinner's ready."

Hashim nodded, his expression shifting from one of pure joy to one like a man repenting. Benjamin had talked about this. It was the _Sacred Thursday_ today, where they prayed for their lost loved ones before having dinner. They all moved from the sofas to the carpeted floor, sitting down with their legs crossed and eyes towards their laps. Harry thought it fit to leave, but Hashim stopped him, before looking at Zain. "Start." Harry could have easily told them he didn't follow the same religion as them, that it was better if he'd leave but he was a curious cat. He just wanted to see how _they_ prayed.

"Dad-"

"It's okay. Harry's family." 

Zain looked up at Harry, perhaps threateningly but Harry couldn't tell for sure. He only knew that, of course, Harry had to be the first one to shift his gaze from Zain's intense one. What came next totally plucked Harry out of his position and shot him somewhere far and deep. When something came so unexpectedly, they usually left you feeling uncoordinated, out of place. 

And Zain opened his mouth, and the notes spilled out. True and long and deeper than Harry had ever known. Like the ocean, the turbulent waters. _Raag_. Harry sat down slowly, on the floor too still near the door, eyes in a trance as he looked onto Zain and his closed eyes and abundant emotions. His whole being seemed to have been consumed by a strange force, even Harry could feel it. The way his heartbeats were surrendering to the skies, chest contracting and expanding, eyes squeezing shut to the immense darkness of this room, opened for the light that took over the whole of his body. _Noor_.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off Zain. Everyone had closed theirs, everyone found it easier to feel in blindness, but Zain's voice could have awakened Harry from the deepest slumbers. Perhaps, even death itself.

And when Zain opened his eyes and Zakariya too, his voice lowering dramatically, until Zakariya joined, they both looked at each other like they were stitching away secrets. Harry had found enough consciousness to watch their exchange and he had felt, with the same intensity, what they were trying so hard to suppress. Truth was, Harry knew exactly was going on now. It was either the lover or the lord, and they could not betray either. 

_Whether or not you agree to speak to me_

_Whether or not you agree to listen_

_I will stay here in the growing ruins of my life_

_with my hands towards you, and some day you may take me_

_Take me, carry me away_


	3. A TALE TOLD BY THE DRUNK FOOL

Seven days had already passed, since the Maliks' _Sacred Thursday_. Life was bearable here. Mister Hashim often had a lot of conference calls to attend even when he was out of work and at home, so he remained busy. Natasha was always with him too, but she sometimes would come to the kitchen just before meal time, to make small talk with him and bribe him with expectations of rewards if he kept working hard. She wasn't a bad woman when one looked at her like that. No unnecessary flirting or clothing that silly men would frown upon. She wasn't rude or selfish and in fact, cared for everyone as much as she could. It made Harry wonder how she had the courage to be such a homewrecker. And did Hashim's two wives know about her? If yes, then how could they so easily share their husband, toss him around from woman to woman?

It turned out that Zakariya didn't actually live here in the same house as Hashim. He lived with his mother, just 20 minutes away, but he was so often present in this house, Harry often forgot about all that. Zakariya was nice but a little annoying at times. He'd often provoke Harry into fury, like jokingly complaining about his prepared meals continuously, every time he'd bump into Harry. Now, Harry was a proud little guy, and he knew his food was spectacular, but hearing Zakariya downplay his skills so much, often made him snap. "Don't eat it if you hate it that much!" That day, Harry had grabbed the plate from in front of Zakariya and thrown the food in the bin. A waste, but he was angry, and an angry man was stupid.

Zakariya had been taken aback and he did come later, to him, to apologize and at first Harry was still too annoyed to hear him talk but Zakariya wouldn't leave him alone. He kept bugging Harry for forgiveness and Harry remembered giving in finally. "Fine, now go away and don't bother me again."

Zakariya had found it amusing though. He had loved how Harry had the audacity to display such a behavior in front of them, to make Zakariya _beg_ for forgiveness and the latter hadn't done that with many people honestly. Benjamin and William hadn't been this up front with any of them. In fact, very few had the courage since Hashim, and his family were so affluent, and everyone feared their wrath.

Zain on the other hand was hard to see and decipher. He was either out, or confined to his bedroom, rarely coming out besides meal times. It was like Harry's presence last Thursday had repelled him. His voice had touched the deepest parts of Harry, in ways the latter hadn't experienced for so long after his rehabilitation. Everything about that man was an enigma, but Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to mess around with it. Not now, not anytime soon.

And Aliya...oh God! That woman was insanely talented. Beauty and brains, they said. She was an ace at basketball, exceptional at playing the guitar _and_ the piano, her voice soothing to the soul. Harry admired her so much, and his respect and appreciation only grew after he witnessed her paintings one fine evening. Seriously, how could one be so good at so many different things? She was a masterpiece.

She told him she hadn't drawn for quite a while now, lacking inspiration and motivation both. Hashim's unfaithfulness once again had left her feeling lost and miserable, and she didn't know if she was strong enough to grow out of that condition this time. Harry felt for her, to the point it was weird how much her sadness had affected him for days later.

His routine wasn't very busy. He was only required at times when food necessary, which wasn't too often, and it gave him a lot of free time. Sometimes, he decided to help the other servants around with the cleaning and dusting, but other times he reveled in the quiet and peace of his bedroom. Like today. He had his earphones in, a book in hand as he read on about the stars and the universe. He had always had an interest in the infinite worlds their universe held, the endless possibilities of birth and death and lives greater than the sun.

And between it all, he wondered whether love was the only everlasting possession mortals could ever have. Even the stars died out, their lights dimming and disappearing, and yes, they were reborn but _love_ , it was neither mortal, nor reborn. Everyone felt love some way or another. Sorrow was extinguished with love. Happiness was born with love. The serial-killers were made satisfied out of _love_ for what they did, Romeo lived and died for love. There was no emotion as simple, yet as complex as love.

And yet, people feared it when it was unconventional, as if men were parallel lines never meant to mingle with one another. If the Lord were as loving as they made Him seem, then why would he, the most benevolent, be so prejudiced against love? Because it was just that, right? He said he was present in every heart that carried love and kindness, but did he mention gender? Perhaps He did, but Harry would never believe. These were words written by _them_ , the people, the mortals. Not by the Lord, and Harry couldn't think of such a mighty force, being so selfish and discriminatory.

The door swung open. Harry closed the book and watched Aliya entering his room like she owned it. Well...she kind of did. Harry was just a guest. Her hair was tied back once again, dark eyeliner making her eyes look a hundred times more attractive than usual. She carried a blank canvas and its stand, her bag's strap sliding down her arm. "My room's lighting is shit and I want to paint." She grinned up at him, not waiting for Harry to respond and already setting up her things by the window.

"You got some inspiration?"

"Nope. I got some pent-up anger instead." She turned to him, her hands on her hips. "You want some?"

Harry raised his hands up in defense. "No, thank you. Please carry on."

She started on her angry painting and Harry went back to his book. He couldn't help but to gaze at her every now and then, the way she'd stop at times with her hands on her hips, the brush staining her jeans, to just stare and think. She mixed colours, and made such sharp strokes, he was awed. A woman this perfect could not exist, but here she was. Aliya Malik, 23 years old, and a master at everything she put her hands on.

He heard her sigh loudly, before she picked up the bottle of black paint, uncapping it and dumping the liquid all over the painting. Harry hadn't even been able to see it properly, but now it was ruined. "Aliya..."

She didn't speak immediately but left the room after a while telling him to wait there. Harry stood up from the bed, taking his earphones out and stood in front of the painting. He wished he could have seen it before. He was sure it wouldn't be as bad as she thought, and every failure was progress. She just had to keep trying.

Aliya came back holding a cleaning cloth. Her hands were shaking, her breaths quick and shallow as she took the canvas off the stand and put it on the floor, before bending down to clean the tiles.

"Aliya, I can do this. Leave it."

"No, I...made the mess. I can clean. I'm not an entitled bitch."

He grabbed her wrists and stopped her. She looked up at him, angry and perhaps embarrassed. "Of course, you're not." He snatched the cloth from her and began cleaning. He could feel her eyes on him, but he remained focused until the tiles looked less dark and whiter.

He stepped into the bathroom to wash it as well and when he came out, Aliya was standing there with her hands tucked into her jeans' back pockets, a sheepish look on her face. "I'm sorry. And thanks."

He smiled. "It's alright." Harry stepped closer to her, watching her hair coming out of her ponytail, her cheeks tinted with red, eyes watery. "You have privileges but you're also hard-working and honest, and you deserve what you have. You deserve more than this actually." A tear escaped her eye, her lips curling up in a grateful smile. "Keep trying and one day the moon just may smile on you."


	4. COME HOME FROM DISTANT LANDS, BELOVED

Harry finished his cup of coffee, standing by the window and looking out at the far away hills. That cave was there, the one he had spent so long in to be cleansed, broken, and built back up as a new person. Next to him, Aliya's unfinished painting gawked at him. It was of Harry himself, a portrait. Aliya had told him she liked his face, that his expressions soothed her, his presence watered her bland roots. She had only colored part of his outfit yet, in red and when looking at the picture in whole, it seemed like Harry was wearing a white shirt stained with blood. It made him shiver.

Aliya was out though, to visit her mother and he couldn't rush her to come back home and finish what she started. Who was he to ask her of such thing? Hashim had made sure to remind Harry every other day that he was nothing, but a helper. He should never try to learn anything other than their benevolence. He shouldn't try to make friends, let alone anything else. And it was fair. He only had 4 more months and then he'd be out of here for good. He should stay away from trouble anyways. He had witnessed enough of this world's punishments already.

It was yet another Thursday today. He'd get to hear Zain again, watch him from the kitchen, facing the man's back. He'd get to revel in the passion of his voice, and witness yet another love story maimed and marred by the hateful.

His phone buzzed. He walked back to his bed and picked it up. _I've never been more eager to come back home._ Harry didn't have the energy to smiled at the screen, or to welcome her. She was fine where she was right now. If she came back, he'd have to do something neither of them would like. _Enjoy ur time. U won't get it again for a while._

_ur just tired ive taken over ur room_

No. He wasn't tired, in fact, he missed her. So much. He wouldn't let his eyes linger on her guitar when cleaning otherwise. He wouldn't allow himself a taste into her world of music otherwise. He would not be staring at the pictures they'd taken together otherwise. Now, this wasn't the kind of love the onlooker would imagine. He yearned for her as a friend, a brother, a kind man colliding with an equally kind woman. Two...stars. He loved her like a flower loved the sun, like the night loved the moon, or the way spring to the colours.

How would it feel to bite the moon? Nobody would have the answer for that because it took another kind of divine force to know that, to witness it. It was for the _blind_ , blind fools who dared to believe in something different, purer. Those whose souls were tainted, whose spirits had known exactly how to shatter and be crushed to small, small pieces. Those who knew how to close their hands when the moonlight threatened their secrets, and those who knew how to run and hide when the wolves came out with their sharp fangs.

Harry didn't notice it quick enough, but his cheeks were wet, and startled by Zakariya's presence beside him, he turned around in a quick, sudden motion that left me uncoordinated for a few seconds.

"Are you okay?" Zakariya asked. Harry looked at him for a moment, lips parted in surprise. He reached his shaky fingers to his cheek and felt the tears.

"Eh...ehm...yeah. I'm good." He wiped the tears with his hands, taking in a deep breath and two steps back. "Just homesick."

Zakariya was holding his own cup of coffee, and he smiled at Harry's lame excuse in the way people smiled at young children lying. Pitiful. Harry knew then, that Zakariya was the one. _The one who knew how it felt to bite the moon_. Harry chuckled, leaning against the window, and two steps away Zakariya mimicked his posture, taking a sip of his drink.

They remained there, like that, silent and screaming like the world was on fire. "You know about me and him, don't you?" Zakariya asked after a while. He looked to the side and Harry did too, gentle smiles on both their faces.

"I know about me and my job."

Zakariya laughed, a short and mellifluous sound. He crossed his arms across his chest, eyes back towards the front, the open door. "You're...different. Benjamin and William would have been terrified."

"That's 'cause I know what _love_ feels like."

Harry blinked back tears, taking another deep breath, and leaning away from the window. He met Zakariya's curious gaze and smiled. "I should get started on dinner. Are you done with your drink?"

Zakariya nodded, passing the empty cup to Harry who said his farewell and left for the kitchen. Harry was an interesting man, Zakariya thought. He was driven with secrets, just like him and Zain, and Zakariya wanted to know everything about it, like the nasty, curious cat he was, but he also thought he had no right. Just like Harry covered his knowledge with this _job_ , Zakariya would cover his knowledge and intrigue of the man, with fear of being exposed.

Mason had already gone. Yesterday was his last day and though Harry didn't expect to miss him this much, he did long for company when alone like this. He couldn't possibly befriend any of the Maliks, since Hashim had already fallen suspicious of him and Aliya, but servants and helpers were good. To be honest, Mason was just a little too talkative, but other than that he was good. Funny and caring.

But now, Harry was just lonely, and carrying burdens he did not want to carry anymore. He wanted to laugh too. He wanted to have conversations with people who were willing to listen, too. How did Benjamin find this experience so exciting and adventurous. All Harry had been doing here for two months was cook and keep out of everyone's way. Did Zain feel as alone when Zakariya was gone for days and he remained in his room, locked up? Did he yearn company as much or was he happy with the abandonment and timely prayers?

Hashim entered the door, Natasha giggling behind him. Harry pretended he was blind, that he did not care what Hashim did with his life, but he still questioned it all. After two months, he was still confused and oddly upset at the man's behavior. He had put his children in such difficult positions and Harry could only imagine how his wives were dealing.

He turned the stove off, and the delicious waft of biryani enveloped the place. "Ah, Harry son, I see your doing amazing in the kitchen."

"Thank you, sir."

"Our cuisine...is one of the finest you'll find out there."

"It sure is, sir."

Harry watched Hashim laugh and walk back to the couch, Natasha excusing herself to go to the bathroom. The TV was turned on, the news of the country's elections creating a rather unpleasant noise. Apparently, Hashim was an ex-politician and this news amused him. He imagined the world was going to shit, since new politicians and government officials were straying away from the traditional rules and regulations. "This country is doomed. I'm telling you Styles. Nothing can save us now."

Harry laughed to himself, transferring the rice to a dish and starting on the salad. _Maybe you should worry about your family falling apart first_.

The time came soon enough. Zain's appearance in the living room, Zakariya's too. Harry felt Aliya's absence, but it didn't take too long for him to completely lose himself in what Zain had to sing this time. _Sacred Thursdays_ had come to be Harry's favourite. He could stare at Zain and hear him for more than usual, and everybody would be oblivious to that. He could be a little more shameless than he'd normally be, and nobody would be furious about it.

Zain's voice was a trance. It was often hard to jump back into the reality after such an experience, but by now, it had gotten a little easier. But this time, Zakariya had left the room way before Zain was supposed to finish. The coughing was just an excuse, Harry knew, and Zain watched Zakariya leave like he was a man on the verge of losing _every single thing_ he cherished.

Harry stood up too then, and Zain glared at him. Did he think Harry was here to ruin their lives? Harry ignored the look, and trudged towards the kitchen, pouring water in a glass, and finding himself in the balcony. Zakariya came here often.

He approached the guy, clearing his throat. Zakariya flinched but took the glass from Harry and gulped down the water in one go. "Thanks."

Harry nodded, ready to leave but something inside him stopped him in his tracks. He didn't turn around though and Zakariya was facing the city too. "I know I don't have the right, but eh...you both should really stop before it's too late."

"Are you telling me I should be scared?"

Harry sighed, clutching the empty glass harder. He could see Zain coming too, and the latter did not look happy. "I'm telling you to prevent a bigger tragedy from striking." He walked again, Zain purposely bumping against him, but Harry didn't mind. Men in love were reckless.


	5. HEAR MY SOUL SPEAK

Zakariya came to him again. Harry was cutting the vegetables when Zakariya burst into the living room, biting on an apple, and jumping onto the island. Harry didn't acknowledge him, learning early on that befriending these people was out of the question. It wasn't as if he hated them or anything, but he just...he just really needed to suppress his curiosities and desires if he were to live in this society.

"So, whatever reason there is that you ain't talking to Aliya...it's upsetting her." Harry stopped cutting for a moment, and he looked at Zakariya from over his shoulder before turning back to his work. "Look, she knows it's all Hashim's doing and she's respecting your choice, but you can't ignore her forever. If you're honest."

"What do you know about my honesty?" Harry shook his head at Zakariya's silence.

"You're really not interested in our...matters and affairs? Not even a tiny bit curious?"

Harry held the knife tighter and turned around in a quick motion, a plastic smile stuck on his face. "I would appreciate if you would leave me alone. I need to get lunch prepared and you're distracting me."

Zakariya jumped off the island, placing the half-eaten apple aside as he approached Harry. He stood just a step away and stared at the curly lad. "For your kind information, your advice about me and Zain stopping was completely useless. There has never been anything direct, physically or verbally, between us."

Harry chuckled, taken aback yet trying to hold it together. "That is none of my business."

"It was your business yesterday, when you came to see me and gave me your oh so mighty suggestion." Harry sighed, pursing his lips into a tight line. He turned his back to Zakariya and continued with the veggies again. He felt Zakariya stepping closer, his warm breath prickling Harry's skin on the back of his neck. "You can stop being disgusted." Harry imagined Zakariya was saying that gritting his teeth. There was an air of nervousness coming from him that made Harry's heart quiver. "Aliya is not me. She's different. She's righteous. Being friends with her ain't gonna land you in any trouble."

"Says you. The man enamored with his step brother." Harry faced Zakariya again, their faces so close Harry could see the little sprinkles of green in his eyes too. "You cannot assure me of safety when you are just a guest at this place."

"This is my _father's_ -"

"Exactly. This is your father's house. I only follow his orders, not yours."

Zakariya looked at the floor, snickering as he brushed a hand through his hair. He raised his hands up in defense, stepping away from Harry. "You got me. I'm a nobody."

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat, shifting his gaze away from Zakariya who Harry had upset and made to feel worthless. That was not his intention. He was just trying to protect himself.

Zakariya grabbed his elbow, forcing Harry to look his way and he smiled again, a kind of teary smile that hurt Harry in ways he had seldom experienced. "You're taunting me because me and my family are so messed up, but why don't you look at _yourself_ in the mirror and realize what _you_ are, Harry Styles. Maybe then you'll find out that you are equally as _stupid_ as us."

And Harry did. That evening, after lunch was served, he didn't stay to join them eating. He rushed back to his room and locked the door and stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, grasping the sink taut and watching tears stream out onto his cheeks and down his chin. He tried to swallow back his sobs, squeezing shut his eyes but all he could see was the past digging new paths to haunt him day and night.

He hadn't slept properly even once since he came from his rehabilitation. Every night was tormenting, every day felt like something ginormous had fallen upon him and wounded his soul. Why hadn't he found peace as they had promised? Why did his hands still shake when the withdrawals kicked back in? Why...did he miss the younger days still?

He washed his face twice before retiring to his bedroom, the lamp light on and the pages of his opened book turning as the wind entered through the window. He closed it and stood gazing at the hills and the darkening sky. It would start raining soon, and with it, would come Harry's crushing desire to die.

He sat himself down, just next to the window and against the wall, legs crossed and arms hanging limp by his sides. He wanted to go away so badly. He wanted to go back home and maybe, if he talked to Benjamin desperately enough, his brother would let him return. "Benjamin?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

"Can I...can I come back?" Harry's voice trembled at the request. "I feel suffocated here, Benjamin."

"Why? Are they not taking care of you?"

"They're...a bunch of messy people Min. You shouldn't leave me alone in case I go astray. Again."

_Please release me from the shackles that have kept me here. Please remind me of the goodness that came with my cleansing procedures, the screaming and the crying and the loneliness. Remind me how terrible that time was and how good they made me. I'm a new man today, I shall remain good like that. Forever._

"Stop saying such silly things. The pastor said it will never happen again. He guaranteed."

"But Min-"

"I think you're just homesick, kiddo. Come stay here for the weekend with Mister Hashim's permission. I'm sure you'll feel better then."

This was good as a deal Harry could get for now. He'd have an excuse to go back, and maybe he'd come with a greater excuse to remain home and never come back to this place. Hashim was already sick of their family anyway, so it would be harmless if Harry cut his experience here short and went back home. There was nothing here for him, other than anxiety.


	6. THE RIVER MOVING WITHIN YOU

Harry stuffed two t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants and a pair of socks in his backpack. He was only going home for two days, so he didn't really need much. And this short time...he'd cherish it like never before. For the second time in his lifetime, Harry would experience how it felt like to be back home after a tragedy. This time it would be relieving, he hoped.

He wore his long, checkered coat that Sebastian had gifted him upon his arrival from rehab, and the beanie that his mother had died making. He wrapped the soft, woolen scarf around him too and did a final check over of his stuff and his appearance before leaving his room.

He needed to head over to Hashim's office first to remind him of his departure, but before he could reach Zain's door room opened. Harry stopped in his way and watched as Zain stood in front of him, arms crossed and a look of resentment on his face. Seriously...what had Harry done to him?

"What did you and Zak talk about?"

This was the first time Zain had addressed Harry exclusively. Not a indirect message from another servant, or even Zakariya. No. Zain was in front of Harry and directing a clear question to him.

The only problem was that it wasn't a very welcome question. "Nothing much." He tried to side step the man, but Zain blocked his way again, standing way too close, threateningly.

"He's saying some shit and I know it's your fault."

Harry met Zain's gaze annoyed. "How is it my fault? I've never spoken to him more than a minute. Please get out of my way, I need to leave."

Harry managed to move past Zain, but the latter grabbed his elbow and halted him in his tracks again. "If you're leaving...make sure you don't come back again."

Harry stared ahead at Hashim's closed office door. Zain's touch was gone way before he realised, but the ache lingered. Harry had never had anyone hate him the way Zain seemed to, unreasonably, unknowingly. No matter how much Harry tried to, he could not remember anything that may have upset the guy.

The door behind him slammed shut. Harry flinched. He inhaled shakily, turning around in a hesitant manner and looking towards yet another closed door. Harry wanted to know what went on behind these walls. All the secrets and the sins perhaps. Why did the path to Zain's bedroom reek of despondency and exhaustion? A sickness of some sort? If Zain and Zakariya really had nothing going, if they really were as distant as Zakariya stated, then Zain musn't be this indignant of Harry.

It was always the threats, the breaking seams of an affair, that led to so much bitterness. Harry was the threat, as perceived by Zain and even, Zakariya perhaps.

But Zakariya had a way of wording his resentment. He didn't avoid or ignore Harry or threaten him to never come back. Zakariya sweet-talked him into never opening his mouth. Zakariya humoured Harry for his own sake, and somehow that momentary artificiality felt much more pleasant. Often, we liked to be told lies and be manipulated than face the truth, and Harry was no different.

He took a decisive breath, a heartbeat of finality as he confidently made his way to Hashim's office and said his farewell for the time being. Only, his mood and his heart would tell, if he'd ever return to this place.

The train was a cold place. Bumpy, uncomfortable and so chilly, Harry felt the wind in his bones. Sleeping, in these circumstances proved to be quite difficult. Lendann was the coldest city Harry had seen till today. So much different from Kardishire, Harry's home.

He plugged his earphones in, slid a little down the seat to hide himself as much as he could, as he listened to the tender words of _Rumi_ and his _Sufi_ world. It wasn't something he had been interested in, honestly, but one day, by accident he had found Zain's bedroom opened and the one thing that he caught before the door was shut closed to his face, was _Rumi_.

So, still holding onto the curiosity, Harry had searched about it and now here he was, reading and listening to some poetry and prose he had never, in his life, come across. Did Benjamin know about it? Harry would never tell him about his discovery.

And it wasn't as if Harry was enamored with all that romance and devotion and spirituality. No. He just wanted to dive into Zain's world a little. To know how it felt to be something so precious, someone like _that._ He wanted to know what it felt like to be an old book stuck on the countless shelves against his bedroom's walls. What it felt like to _know_ him and why...why did he hate Harry so much.

The rain started pouring again. Puddles were forming and Harry imagined Kardishire, more earth than concrete, flooded to the knees. He looked down at his jeans and they were his favourite, but oh well. Everything was supposed to be ruined at some point, right?

Benjamin had told Harry, Kardishire had grown moody. It was often angry or grievous, always thundering and pouring. Harry had thought it must have been due Lendann's curse transferring. How else could the bright, laughing Kardishire, begin resembling Lendann's gloomy hues like that? So suddenly?

Sebastian and William had welcomed him at the station. They warned him it was going to get messy once they stepped out, and they were right. The trip to their car was long and draining, and soaking wet. The wind was a beast roaring, the raindrops hard on his face. He could barely see where he was going. William was holding him by the arm and guiding him towards the vehicle.

Once sat down, the heater refused to turn up and it took approximately 30 minutes for the car to start, and move out of the flooded parking lot. Trees were being swayed violently, branches thrown here and there with no care. It was like a hurricane had come, but this was just winter. The rare winter at Kardishire. Even Lendann seemed better than this now.

Finally, home sweet home! Harry came in with an involuntary smile. Benjamin and Jacob refused to greet him until he was dry and warm. They laughed. Harry, William and Sebastian headed to their respective rooms for a hot shower and quick change.

As he peeled his clothes off, Harry's phone vibrated against the sink. _okay_ _I_ _know_ _ur_ _trying to keep_ _ur_ _distance and shit but the least u could do was say bye_. Aliya. Harry sighed, putting the phone back. She just did not get it, did she?

Harry's marks were still fading. They weren't as noticeable anymore, but if he squinted his eyes and _really_ looked, he could still see them. Rehab...had been a troubling time and its scars would take a lot of time to heal. Harry had accepted it, and he was okay. That was exactly why, befriending someone like Aliya, was out of the question.

After the shower and changed into a warm hoodie and his grey sweatpants, he headed over to the kitchen where the smell of pancakes and maple syrup had already hungered his tummy. The three brothers were already there and this time, as Harry came in, both Benjamin and Jacob embraced him tightly. "Missed ya, kiddo." Benjamin muttered.

"Missed you all too." _Home sweet home._


	7. TO KISS THE MOUTH OF A FLOWER

Harry kneeled down, closing his eyes as he clasped his hands together. He felt his heartbeats louder than the thunder. The flickering glows of the candles danced in the darkness of his closed eyes, and he smiled because never had he thought that the shadows the candles left, could really light up his own darkness.

Benjamin started the prayer, Sebastian carrying on putting flames on every white candle that had been left off. Harry and Jacob repeated the prayers after Benjamin, loud and clear, Sebastian joining in a few moments later.

It had been a while since Harry had joined his brothers for prayer like this. So long had passed since they gathered in this room, and lit candles and repeated mantras like they could save them from the sinking of their ships. It felt good though, even if Harry had a hard time sometimes. It felt good because this was home, and family and after all, everyone needed some kind of faith, right? It was something to hold on to when life got hard and the beasts bore their teeth in front of them.

It wasn't as if Harry didn't believe. He did, just not as strongly perhaps, but today it felt necessary. Aliya was upset at him, Hashim wanted him back immediately even though the weather was ferocious and travelling back so soon would be a hassle, Zain hated him for some strange reason and Zakariya...Zakariya just spent his time defending his feelings to Harry like Harry _cared_.

Maybe Harry did care. A little bit. Whatever Zakariya felt insecure about in front of Harry was completely unnecessary. And whatever reason Zakariya felt compelled to defend his actions...it was _none_ of Harry's business. Harry himself was messed up; he didn't need Zakariya to say anything. Things like this could be understood without the tongue. Zakariya should know by now that if Harry remained quiet, it was exactly because of this.

 _Please, plant the root of joy in their hearts, and in mine and provide me of the peace I have been so deprived of this whole time. Show me the right path, the one that leads me to you and eternal happiness. I don't want to go astray, please change my heart. Turn it, twist it, roll it around, but please, after all this pain, show me the light you have promised us all_.

Harry hoped, if he implored hard enough, he'd actually change. If he believed hard enough, the Lord would be pleased at him, and then all these doubts and fears in his mind and heart would be all gone.

"Did Jacob give you your pocket money?" Sebastian asked, helping Harry fold the laundry.

"No, not yet. He said he needed to get some withdrawn from the bank, but there's no way he's going out in these conditions." Harry looked outside the window, sighing at the rain still pouring down. The power had been cut and everything was just a bunch of shadows and sad hues. "I have some still left from last time, don't worry."

Sebastian hummed, before folding the last t-shirt. Harry put everything in the basket and was about to pick it up, to take upstairs when Sebastian held his arm and stopped. Harry met his worried gaze and waited for his brother to elaborate. "Are you dealing fine?" Harry shifted his gaze, opening his mouth to say something but he didn't know what e could reply with. Sebastian sighed and stepped closer. "Look, I know this is hard, hm? Sending you away again not longer after you came from rehab." Sebastian reached his free hand to Harry's other arm too, squeezing his flesh reassuringly. "If you want to stay with us a little longer, you can. I'll convince Benjamin."

Harry felt tears prickling his eyes. "I won't get another chance for a placement. The Maliks are the most recognized family here, and me quitting will-"

"Don't worry about that, little bro. Just tell me what _you_ want, okay?" Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat, love for Sebastian blooming in his heart as he nodded. "Think about it well." The older patted his shoulder and lifted the basket, heading towards the storeroom.

Harry sat himself down on the couch and proceeded to do as told. To _think well_. He had begged Benjamin for this before, right? To come back home because that place was suffocating. Everyone wanted something out of him. Everyone wanted him to stay quiet, out of their business, to go along with everything and anything they said. Zain was just the only one who had the guts to actually say it. _If you're leaving...make sure you don't come back again_.

But this was what a job was all about. Only focus on your own role and stay out of everyone else's business. Additionally, if Harry quit this placement, then he wouldn't get another one so easily. This was the most reputable one and all other employers would question his decision. They'd think he wasn't fit to do a job at their places if he couldn't do it at the Maliks.

When he had come back from rehabilitation, he had promised himself he'd be a good man, a good citizen. He would behave normally, like every other man his age, and he'd be useful to society. He'd be a good brother. No more running and falling for the wrong person. No more getting shot at and cursed by his loved ones. He had changed.

Yeah. He wasn't staying here so uselessly again. He'd go back and finish the next four months obediently and be his brothers' pride again.

Sebastian wasn't fully convinced but he smiled at Harry softly, and embraced him tightly before letting him go. Benjamin was waiting outside for Harry. The rain had finally stopped but the water levels were still high and muddy, and a lot of the roads were blocked and unsafe. "Be good." Jacob spoke, hugging him too before letting William say his goodbyes too.

Once sat comfortably on the train, shoes and jeans soaking wet and filthy he replayed Sebastian and Benjamin's conversation earlier again. He was heading to Sebastian to tell him he didn't want to go after all, that he'd like to stay and help them out here, at home. His door was ajar, and Harry lingered back, straining to hear what was going on, on the other side.

"Do you think I wanted to send him away so soon, again?" It was Benjamin and his seething voice. "Look, Sebastian, I _know_ what's best for him. I only took this decision so he could stay distracted. Coming back from rehabilitation, to this same neighborhood and the same people that still to this day resent him, it'd have a negative impact on his mind. I'm just trying to help him." Harry waited as both of them shut up for a moment. "C'mon Sebastian. Let him complete this placement and then he can stay here for however long he wants. He needs this, so he can get a good job later on, find a nice girl, settle down...for a good life."


	8. I AM ENAMORED AND GONE

Harry dreaded ringing the bell, hoped he didn't have to face Zain at least until the next day, when he'd be mentally stronger to deal with the lad. Lendann was dry but chilly, the dark clouds gathering together as if joining a cult. Harry didn't have a particular preference for summer or spring, but gloomy days had always proven to be ominous for him. Something tended to go wrong whenever Harry was this miserable and the weather decided to mirror his rotten insides.

His clothes were getting dry slowly, but there was so much filth clinging to the bottom of his pants and he felt absolutely disgusting. The first thing he'd do once back to the Maliks' house and before dinner was to take a good, warm shower. His nose was already runny, and he just knew that he'd get sick sometime soon.

Fortunately, he didn't have to see Zain before dinner, nor the other siblings and he was thankful. He had yet to think of how to excuse himself in front of Aliya and her hurt. The house was empty. Noah, one of the servants working at their house, had informed Harry that no one was home other than Zain who had been in his room since the morning.

Harry unpacked again once he was done with showering, and left for the kitchen, realizing that it was almost time for lunch, and he had yet to start cooking. He didn't miss a moment, but it was so late that he was nowhere finished with the meals by the time Hashim and Natasha came in, Aliya closely followed by them. Hashim mustn't have noticed Harry, too busy chattering away with his girlfriend, or whatever the heck that woman was to him.

But Aliya did. She met his gaze and she stared at him in that manner that people post-breakup would look at each other. Even though this wasn't any romance story and Harry wasn't stuck in a love angle he had no interest in being part of, it still felt like that and it was fair. Friendships went through break ups too. Sometimes, rougher, more heart-wrenching than any romantic tragedy.

Him and Aliya hadn't known each other for long, but numbers and calculations had never mattered when true feelings were involved. It hurt. Admittedly, it cut through his heart to pain Aliya and he wanted her company back, to be able to joke around with her. He was her outlet. She found a confidant in him and he liked it.

What could he do? Life had never been by his side.

She rolled her eyes and left to her bedroom, her steps loud and heavy on the stairs. Angry. He shook his head, trying to get rid of all distractions for now and only focusing on his job. He set the table with Noah's help, calling everyone to the table. Harry waited, standing as Hashim and Natasha sat down together, Zain coming too a few moments later. Zain didn't look at Harry, Harry didn't either. Aliya joined not long after.

As Harry was about to excuse himself to leave the dining room, Hashim called out his name. Harry turned around, hands behind him. "We have a yearly trip to the capital as Benjamin must have told you. We hold a talent festival there every time, looking out for young people who can go on to represent our country internationally. You're coming with us."

Zain coughed, his chair screeching as he pushed it back. Natasha rubbed his back, passing him a glass of water. Harry frowned, more surprised at Zain's reaction than anything else. Benjamin had told him about the festival, and he expected that was exactly the reason why Hashim demanded him back soon. It seemed like, however, that Zain wasn't looking forward to his presence. Well...the feeling was mutual.

"You may start packing. Make sure you get a uniform from Siena by the end of today. We're leaving tomorrow morning around 6." Harry nodded, finally escaping from the tension that had swollen the room. He had 2 people in here that despised his entire existence, and it was _just_ great.

Siena wasn't young, as Harry had expected from the name. He was clearly not a good judge or observer. She was an old lady with the brightest, red lips he had ever seen. Her flesh was tainted with dark and white patches, like the moon. She was kind, hard of hearing, but she looked at him like she recognized him. He was confused, but she kept muttering stuff under her breath, and he could only hear half-eaten phrases, and he tried to fit them into a coherent sentence back in his bedroom as he ate his own dinner too. "you...you...him...I know you...little boy...nasty, nasty men that caught ya."

The only nasty men he had encountered in his life, who had caught him, were from the rehab centre. He doubted she was talking about his brothers, but he doubted she had ever seen him being taken either. Where did she know him from then?

Ever since he stepped foot in this place, people were strangely drawn to him and not in a good way either. Everyone had something to steal from him, to hide from him. Someone always had something to resent him from as if they knew exactly who he was, and he wondered whether his past mistakes had made it to the national newspapers or the television even. His sins had been big enough, so there was no way he hadn't been advertised and exploited and cursed at during his time being treated. He would question Sebastian about it. He would.

A knock sounded on his door. Harry swallowed down the spoonful and placed the plate of rice on his bedside table. He wiped his hands and his mouth and opened the door. There he was. Zain fucking Malik, like a fucking plague, after him for no apparent reason.

"Didn't I tell you to not come back?"

"And...who exactly are you to tell me that?" Harry folded his arms across his chest, feeling hot to the cheeks with fury.

Zain glared at him, moving closer as Harry took a step back. Zain closed the door and faced him again. "Stay. Away. From my family."

"Or what?"

Zain didn't reply for a while, and Harry looked into his eyes, darker than he'd remembered before, and there was just something there that Harry couldn't quite describe. Like a strange familiarity, or a surreal vibe, starkly deep and dark. Perhaps, this was Harry's soul in front of him. This wasn't a different person, just his sick, furious side that he was trying so hard to suppress. Perhaps, Harry had known him from before. It was hard to tell, what exactly, Zain reminded him of.

"You don't get it, do you?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "This place is no pure haven, and whatever sympathy or love my old man is showing towards you...fake. All of it. If you really want to lead a happy fucking life after your _conversion_ , then stay the fuck away from here."

Now Harry was sure, he had been advertised. Everyone knew him and they were all just pretending. Did they pity him? Maybe. One thing was definitive, and that was that, as Zain said, no one had ever been genuine with him ever since he came back. Maybe he should have died when he had the chance to.


	9. OVER THE WATERS OF TIME

Harry had always been a bit of a dreamer, a hopeless romantic as William liked to call him. Benjamin once diagnosed him with Stockholm syndrome. Not in its clinical sense of course but worrying all the same. A prisoner of his fantasies, in love with the burning buildings at the back of his love stories. Harry couldn't have agreed more back then, but now he was different. He no longer dreamed, he had nightmares. He no longer lived in fantasies, he worked at constructing the realities around him. He wasn't in love. He'd been left with his chest empty and aching.

He reached his hand to the bottom of his backpack, retrieving a polaroid. An old one, yellowing from the days of loneliness and pain, stained with all the blood that had spilled out. Turned out, the people who projected love letters and divine happiness, were the biggest enemies of said love and happiness. How else could Harry describe what had gone wrong, in his upbringing and bodily matters?

Something had shifted inside his brain. Chemicals mixed together, the anguish they caused him must have left its side effects on him. There were a bunch of gaps in the stars he had drawn up in his head, dark spots he hadn't seen before. New whites had filled the colored shapes, smokey darks froze moments at inconvenient times. He could not, for the life of him, remember one happy moment with _him_. Perhaps, trauma had clogged his brain.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel the joy buzzing under his flesh every now and then. His head would throb with nostalgia every time it rained. He had yet to witness the first snow after his recovery. He had yet to laugh with his whole mouth open, his eyes crinkling, head thrown back. His heart had yet to relax, to open up again, to heal. His soul was still in the process of growing back into his body. He had yet to be _Harry Styles_ again.

A teardrop fell off his chin, onto the polaroid. He couldn't see _him_ on the picture, not entirely at least. The angle had been odd, the scene a little blurry. There was only the silver twinkles in his eyes, and half a smile that could have made the Sun look dull in comparison. Harry clutched the only remaining possession of him to his chest, and he thought that if he'd ever see _him_ again, Harry would fall apart right then and there.

"Did you...did you publicize my deeds and punishments for everyone to see?" Harry's mouth was bitter. No amount of sugar seemed to sweeten his tongue.

"Huh?"

"You guys told me nothing got out of family. I wasn't in rehab; I was studying abroad...be honest with me Sebastian. Did rumors spread? Everyone seems to _know_."

There was a long pause on the other side and Harry knew then that he had assumed right. The knowledge scratched at his heart. He closed his eyes, hurting. "Harry...things did get a little...messy. There was a lot of betrayal but trust me. We tried our best and nobody has any solid proof, okay? It's all just speculations. Did anyone there say something to you?"

"Nobody needed to. They didn't need to." Harry sniffled, gazing out the window at the far way hills, the shelter he had had for so long. He didn't let Sebastian say anything, didn't let him console Harry with false hope and plastic encouragements. "I...have become a pitiful, laughable man today. I'm finally vulnerable enough to be manipulated and used, did you know that?"

"Harry-"

"I know. I know it's my own fault, but I'm human too Seb. I can make mistakes too. Do I deserve to be condemned for it? Why did nobody say anything to you when you made the same mistake, but target me like this for exactly the same wrong?"

"You know, yours wasn't...ordinary. Conventional."

Harry threw himself back on the bed, lying down on the bed as he chuckled bitterly and stared at the bland ceiling. "I just fell for the _wrong_ person and so did you!"

Harry could hear Sebastian opening and closing his mouth, taking deep breaths as if he had no idea how to help Harry. "I know, Harry. I...I'm really sorry. We could have dealt with this better, but...we really did try our best to protect you. We didn't know after all this time, people would still...and it's hurtful, but I don't know what I can say to you now. I'm sorry."

"None...of you tried. You didn't. If you had, you wouldn't send me here, knowing damn well what had been left of my reputation. You knew exactly what would happen and you still let me go. Is this yours and Benjamin's way of distracting and healing me?"

Sebastian didn't get to speak again before Harry cut the call. He was aching and there was no way it'd go away unless he disappeared completely. He wondered why Hashim even let him work here. Was this why Benjamin kept telling him the Maliks were abundantly kind? Harry wanted to laugh. Could pity ever be an act of kindness and benevolence?

Harry felt like an abandoned road. No one passed by here, no light ever fell upon his surface. Was he fighting against God or himself at this point? Who was he angry at? The world or his own heart or at _him_? The pastor told him once he got out of rehabilitation, he'd face his true self, but he could see no trace. The pastor told him he'd see gardens of flowers and fruit, a boundless, open sky embracing him. He told Harry, God would lay a carpet of forgiveness and ample blessings his way if he just cooperated with them, but where was it all?

Harry was on bleeding knees, crawling through tunnels of self-erasure but where was God and Harry's promised rewards? All he had seen sight of was moonless nights collapsing onto him, the light inside him trickling out of his body in deadly amounts.

He laughed. He laughed so hard it echoed in the room; his tummy ached. He hid his face in his hands and continued, like sanity had been lost somewhere Harry couldn't reach anymore. He snickered at the loosening fists, the forever crushed heart still foolishly trying to beat. The rain stopped pouring. Thunder had travelled far. Everything stood stock still, and Harry could swear they had stopped to watch the greatest show of all time. They were all waiting for the show to be over, finally, to clap and hoot and leave the theatre like a man in pain was just like that. Fiction.

He struggled to breathe, laughter coming to a halt, eyes shutting again and tears soaking his burning skin. 


	10. BETWEEN THE SHADOW AND THE SOUL

Zakariya visited the house one last time, before they all had to leave for the talent festival. He came during dinner, unexpectedly. They were all in the middle of eating, when Zakariya had appeared, a cigarette between his teeth and a smirk over it. He greeted them loudly, Hashim grunting before Zakariya sat down on the spare seat and looked at Harry demandingly. Now that, was exactly who Harry wanted Zakariya to be. Proud, an entitled son of a bitch.

Harry walked back to the kitchen to grab a plate and cutlery for Zakariya, which the latter took with more force than necessary. He must still be angry about last time, how Harry had crushed his ego and realized him that truly, Zakariya was no one but his father's son. However truthful it was, Harry now thought, he shouldn't have been so mean, but that was the only way Zakariya would leave him alone. He _needed_ to be left alone.

After dinner was over, everyone left for their respective rooms and distractions. Harry took the dirty dishes to the kitchen and began washing them. The water was cold, but Harry felt like his insides were too hot already anyways. "Hey." That deep yet feminine voice Harry had grown so fond of. He froze for a moment, the water still running, but he could easily snap out of his sadness and continue washing. She didn't need to know he was miserable too.

"Do you need something?"

"Yes. I need my friend back." Harry sighed. "Please." Aliya stood by his side now, gazing up at him and honestly, she shouldn't be doing that. If Hashim saw them here, standing so close together, all hell would break loose. "C'mon Harry. This is not fair!"

He flinched at her touch on his arm and he turned the tap off, taking a deep breath as he met her gaze too. "Aliya, do you know who I am? Like, do you actually know who I am and where I came from and what I did in the past?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course, it does!" He replied instantly, frustrated. "Of course, it does, Aliya. I don't even know why I'm being allowed here. But one thing I know is that...I don't want to mess up again. I've been through enough."

Aliya glanced at the floor, perhaps conflicted. She was fiddling with her fingers, as she turned her eyes back to him, apologetically but still adamant to make it work. "I know...I understand, but maybe...maybe we can spend time when dad's not at home?! A little bit, just-"

Harr kneeled down in front of her, clasping his hands together as he looked up at her with his green, watery eyes. Apologetically but still adamant too. "Forgive me, Aliya. Just forgive me and let this shit go, I'm not as strong as you think I am."

There were tears in Aliya's eyes too, her lips parting and closing again and again. She closed her eyes for a moment, in pain then held his hands with both of hers. She nodded at him, swallowing down a lump in her throat and opening her eyes. Harry knew she couldn't handle it, but they had only shared a short time together. She could easily get over it, she could move on and forget they ever shared anything together.

Aliya didn't say anything. Her eyes were enough to tell him she'd understood, and that she would never come in front of him again like this. He could rest assured she wouldn't allow herself to hurt him. And there Harry was again, on his knees, crying and alone like an abandoned road that saw no light or life.

He stood himself up, grabbed the plate from the sink and scrubbed it hard. He turned the tap on, washed the last glass until he could see his opaque reflection on it, then like his feet had been splintered, he walked slowly to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed for the night.

Behind his lids, he'd see milk-stained moments of himself, smiling. Genuinely. The seeds of love sprouting all over his skin. His veins were the roots, his flesh their earth. He was clutching a phone to his ear, talking but the dream was on mute and Harry couldn't hear what he was saying, or who he was talking to.

All night, he had been kept awake by those moments of before. The fear and the fearlessness he had felt back then. The secret meetings, the hushed whispers, deleted call histories. Harry had loved him, in a crushing manner. He had loved him _so_ hard he could tear oceans apart with it. Now, it just made Harry scoff. How could he have the audacity?

Morning came quicker than he wanted. He sluggishly walked over to the bathroom to take a shower, and just as sluggishly, trudged downstairs for prepare breakfast. He made pancakes, not really having the energy to make anything heavier as the Maliks usually liked, and he just hoped mister Hashim was okay about it.

He wasn't. He did let it go after a while, but at first when he'd seen what was for breakfast on the table, he stopped behind his chair and shot daggers at Harry. It was a long journey to the capital, everyone would be hungry quicker, this was nothing etc. Harry listened to him talk, Hashim's words going in from one ear and out the other. Maybe Hashim realized there was something wrong with Harry this morning, or maybe he just gave up since Harry wouldn't talk, but whatever the reason was, Hashim dropped the subject rather quick. Even Zain had been a little taken aback at his sight, if his quickly fluttering lashes were any clue.

They hopped into the van, Harry finishing putting the luggage in the vehicle, before taking a seat inside too. He sat right at the back, alone, looking out the window. His head was a chaotic mess, but strangely quiet. It was like the world after an earthquake. Completely destroyed, yet oddly peaceful.

He must have fallen asleep half-way through because when he awoke, it was to the sound of Aliya's soft voice and her hands shaking him. He adjusted himself on the seat and looked at her askew. "We're taking a break. If you want to go to the toilet or grab a snack."

He nodded. She passed him a small smile and left the van, heading for the women's toilet. Harry waited a moment. Zain was still here, and he didn't look like he was going to leave the van anytime soon, so instead of sitting here awkwardly, he decided he'd go out too.

He opened the door, realizing in that moment when he stepped off the van, how relieving it felt to be able to properly stretch his limbs. He walked around the small service area, spotting Hashim talking to the driver as they drank from their coffee cups. Maybe he could use a hot drink too. The weather was still just as chilly as before, but at least it wasn't raining or thundering.

He headed to the coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino for himself, but instead of taking it outside, he remained inside the shop, sitting on the stool near the window from where he could see pretty much everyone. Hashim, the old driver, Siena too and Aliya and Zain. Something told Harry there was more to Zain than he let on, not only to Harry but to everyone else too. He was 99% sure, his own family did not know the darkness he was hiding.

Again, like a mirror of Harry himself. Harry's own family didn't know him either. Maybe if his parents were alive it'd be different, but then again...maybe it wouldn't be. Did Zain and Aliya miss their mum? They could have easily chosen to live with their mother instead of with Hashim. Harry tried to come up with reasons why Hashim could ever be a better choice. He was wealthy for one. Widely recognized too. Well...Harry guessed Hashim wasn't that bad of a father. He loved and often praised his children, a little too much for Harry's likes, and he provided them with anything they needed. He was just a flawed man. Like Harry. Like everyone in this world.

Harry wondered whether unfaithfulness was as big a crime as falling for the wrong person. He wondered whether they overlapped, whether they were equal in subject. Hashim may have found love in three women. People walked around living till their 90s, and many of them had fallen in love and out of love with multiple faces and countless hearts too. Did society see that kind of love in the same way they did when it came to Harry's kind of love? Why did they not see love as just love, with no type or boundaries and rules and regulations? Love was supposed to be a simple emotion, and damned were the monsters that divided it away so carelessly.

Aliya was getting in the van, but she turned around, her eyes roaming everywhere till they landed on his. She smiled, and he did too because this...was beautiful. In another world, maybe Harry'd be a good man and he'd fall for Aliya and the world could burn down to ashes.

Half an hour passed figuring out senseless notions. Before he knew, he was being beckoned over to get back in the vehicle and they were moving towards their final destination.

Harry couldn't wait for it to be all over. This week. These 4 damn months. Then he'd go back to Kardishire, or maybe he'd travel out of the country and hide there forever.


	11. A CANVAS LAID BARE UPON THE GROUND

The place they stayed at was familiar. Familiar to the point Harry thought he must still be sleeping and dreaming. The scent of daisies breezed past him every second, goosebumps rose on his skin. The two-storey house stood proudly between the wide, open field. The grass under his feet was just as fresh as in his dreams. Had he been here with _him_? Maybe they had taken a trip together someday, far away from their families. Harry didn't remember clearly.

He racked his gaze over the tall house, and the silver pathway, the several streetlamps around it. A little further from the accommodation, were various coloured bushes, his hand reaching for the violets, _the blood droplets appearing after being wounded from a thorn_. A heavy weight fell upon Harry's chest. He had no idea where he was, but he'd been here before, he just needed to remember exactly when and why. And with who.

"Harry." Mister Hashim called. Harry turned around startled, seeing Hashim's eyebrow raised in question. He realised they were waiting for him to help take the luggage, time to eat something and rest.

Harry got to work immediately, his head throbbing as he took their stuff inside with a bit of Zain and the driver's help. He merely had time to put his own things in the assigned bedroom, rushing over to find the kitchen. Siena was kind enough to help him with the cooking, and all the time she was there he could not stop thinking about what she had said to him the first time they'd met. And he wanted to ask her more, but he already had an idea, and it wasn't as if Harry was oblivious anymore. Sebastian had made it clear that everyone knew who Harry was and what he had done.

He had yet to ask Hashim what his actual intentions were, getting Harry to work here. Was it really just his good heart, or was it a test of some sort? Siena was a very quiet lady, maybe it was due to her age or the way she felt burdened when speaking since she tended to stutter a lot. He didn't want to be a pest, so he remained quiet too and tried to enjoy whatever dignity and respect he was getting here for the time being. One mistake, and he'd lose that too.

Zain had demanded his food upstairs and Hashim seemed unbothered. Zain always ate at the table, with everyone, even if the rest of the time he'd stay cooped up in his bedroom like a loner. So, this was a first for Harry. He swallowed down a lump in his throat, as he asked Siena if she could take Zain's meal upstairs. Harry didn't really want to face the guy after last time, but he was always unlucky when it came to his own desires.

Siena had trouble moving up and down, so despite his insistence, he had to take the tray of food to the room upstairs, himself. He wanted to drag his steps, and delay reaching there but he figured it'd be easier if he was quick and didn't have to stay in Zain's presence for long.

He knocked on the door twice, before the door opened slightly. Zain's eyes were dark, earphones plugged in and Harry found himself thinking what kind of music he must be listening to. Behind him the curtains swayed with the wind coming in from the open window, Zain's hair dancing along too.

"Thanks." Zain spoke, curtly, taking or rather snatching the tray from Harry's hands. But he didn't move. He stayed there right in front of Harry and he looked right into Harry's eyes like he had seldom done, and he smiled. Harry stared back at him, wide-eyed, wondering if he was imagining all this or whether this was really real. Zain was actually smiling at him and Harry had felt like he had turned up the brightness of the room by a hundred. "You have something under your lip."

"Huh?"

Zain's smile disappeared but his eyes were softer still as if a reprimanding parent looked at their child. "Under your lips. There's a sauce stain."

Harry broke out of the shock of having Zain talk to him gently, and touched his chin, under his lip and there it was. The white sauce that he had tasted just moments ago to figure out if it was edible enough. He wiped it with the back of his hand, shifting his gaze from Zain to the floor. This was so strange. What magic did this place carry to lighten Zain's mood but burden Harry more?

"Ehm...sorry...I mean, thanks. I'll...I should go." He turned around quickly, heading back to the kitchen to get his own meal. He was embarrassed and hungry and there was only one solution. Siena could have told him he had a sauce stain on his face, but no. It had to be Zain who noticed first.

He stuffed his mouth with rice, feeling the exhaustion seep in and the sleepless night he had had was beginning to tire his eyes. He could hear Hashim and Aliya chattering in the dining room, and he yearned for that sort of chatter too. He longed for the days when he'd sit with his brothers and they'd watch a movie or play chess, play cricket every once in a while, too. He missed the friends he had lost, and going to college together, taking the bus and fighting over who would pay for lunch that day.

One mistake had cost him his entire life, and what was that mistake even? He had done nothing wrong, but it seemed to have stopped him and restricted him in so many ways he had never expected. Good things didn't lead to this. Good things made people eternally happy, but perhaps, Harry's definition of _good things_ was different from everybody else's. Was _he_ okay? Had _he_ gone through rehabilitation too? Harry feared, _he_ wasn't even alive.

 _He_ didn't deserve to die, because if _he_ did, there was no reason why Harry was the only one still breathing. It was unfair! He'd go on riots if he had to.

They reached the venue later that evening. Preparations were still on going. Tents had been set up for those with no personal accommodations. There were no hotels in the area. The lights, golden and silver, had been set up, hanging from tree branches, and sizzling their way through the trees like little fairies. There was a stage further up, multi-coloured lights twirling here and there across it, mics being tested and speakers on full volume.

Three dapper men approached Hashim with muscle-tearing grins, shaking hands with each other, patting Zain on the back, and greeting Aliya dearly too. Aliya had brought along her guitar, and the men seemed delighted to see the instrument, asking about her progress and what she and Zain had been planning to perform this time.

Harry listened, a bit farther from the family, and just the thought of having both of them performing, outside of their _Sacred Thursdays_ , had excited him. He loved watching Aliya play the guitar, so professionally and effortlessly. To Harry, her fingers merely hovered over the strings, they just frolicked around, and music was made. Just like that, like magic.

And Zain's voice. Of course. Harry had been entranced every time. He dared not let his sight wander away from him in case he may miss the feel of it. His heart would calm down, his chest would expand, and he could listen to Zain singing forever and ever and ever. It was the only time Harry could tolerate Zain's presence.

When 8 o'clock striked on his watch, the host announced the performance. Aliya came in first, wearing a beautiful black dress. She delicately sat on the wooden chair provided, adjusting the guitar over her lap, and closely watching Zain for when he was ready inspecting the mic and changing its height.

Harry didn't expect anything less than beautiful. Combine an exquisitely gifted guitar player, with an enigmatic, eloquent voice and you'd witness the universe's most beautiful love letter to mankind.

There was something sweeter, less Godly, and more mortal in the timbre of his voice today. _Sacred Thursdays_ were about worship, but today it was different. Today there was love and tragedy and destiny's wisest moves. Today Harry could hear the pain, the utter agony Zain hid so well, and it gnawed at his heart like once _their_ separation had done.

Harry felt dizzy. Zain's voice seemed to get louder or maybe it was just his sensitivity and sat right at the back on a plastic chair, for the first time, Harry closed his eyes while Zain sang. Harry always thought Zain's voice could have awakened him no matter what; it could have emptied the busiest minds and lit up the darkest rooms.

This time, it was quite the opposite. His heart's trembles made him yearn for something that no longer was his. Harry's mind ran through rapid flashbacks of soft hair, greedy fingers, and dimpled smiles. The blistering sun, and his blazing skin. Trees and bouquet of violets. Honey-coloured eyes and his cotton-candy lips, the way he'd hold Harry tightly before letting go, the saddening eyes when he disappeared from Harry's sight. Moonlight flooding in, opened poetry books fallen on the floor, dried out petals between pages and echoes of laughter in the background. A hand covering his, pressing down on the bed, wrinkled sheets, and broken breaths. Love. _A boundless, vast sky embracing Harry_.

The pastor was wrong. It wasn't _him_ that stopped Harry from receiving God's eternal light. It was them, the monsters posed as God's dearest people. Devils in disguise.


	12. HE WALKS IN BEAUTY AND LOVE

Zain sang often with his eyes closed too. Harry had watched his lashes fluttering, his lids falling over his gaze, before he closed his own eyes. But when he lifted the darkness upon his own sight, he found himself right in Zain's line of view.

Zain was watching him, strangely soft like he had done when Harry had gone to give him his meal in the bedroom. A sad smile curled his lips, and even from far, Harry felt the shift in the air. They had met before.

Harry had seen Zain. On a trip. On a college trip here right in this place and Harry was sat at the exact place he had been back then. It was this same talent show, the same lights, the same host and mister Hashim right at the front. This explained why Harry had found Zain to be so familiar at times, those cold eyes were the same Harry had seen back then.

On a college trip, Harry had caught eyes with Zain from this very spot. Zain was alone that day, Aliya nowhere in sight. He was alone on that stage and singing like he wanted to rip the sky apart, _glaring_ at him like he kept doing the past days. He was angry at Harry then, and he was angry now too.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. There was something going wrong in his brain. Why couldn't he remember Zain all at once? Why did memories come to him like this, at intervals, like death did.

Harry broke their contact. He could not bear it. It wasn't as if Zain was glaring at him now as he had done back then, but Harry knew he must have done something _bad,_ something he would remember and regret eventually and he already couldn't meet Zain's gaze. Out of shame.

He stood up from the chair, turning away from the stage and hurriedly walking back to the house. It wasn't far. His chest ached. He pressed a hand to his flesh, taking in deep breaths to calm himself down. Sanity was just an illusion at this point.

His head was reeling with dazzling suns, fistfuls of grass and shades under old trees. Birds chirping in the back, Jacob's voice far away. Wrathful. Venom dripped from his voice; Harry's name had never sounded more menacing.

Harry walked faster, the world spinning around him. Tears blurred his vision, and snapshots of times gone and forgotten kept fogging up his senses. He could see _him_ in front of him up, looking distraught and he could hear his own voice. _You_ _lied to me!_ Harry held his head in his hands, stopping himself in the middle of the pathway. Over him dark clouds began gathering. It was going to rain. In his head, he was holding a small card, a love letter, ink smudged here and there. _Shall_ _I_ _compare thee to a Summer's day._

He let his hands fall to his sides, breathless. College corridors, buzzing classrooms, enthusiastic teachers and scribbling on papers, paper planes, flying over tables till _he_ caught them. Harry turning back to the teacher, awaiting his own paper plane. The green woods, touching _his_ warm skin, kissing _his_ tender, saccharine lips against a wall, under an abandoned, filthy tunnel where the sun couldn't reach them.

Harry looked around the place. This wasn't the path that went to the house. He had gone astray...

Astray he had gone back then too. Holding hands with _him,_ running away and running a little more. Heart in his mouth, eyes wide and panicked. The scrape of his knees. Jacob behind calling for him. Never had Harry's name sounded more menacing.

Where had Zain's eyes led him? Back there, through the darkest times of his life. Harry had left his past in that graveyard they had passed before being caught. Harry had buried his love and memories right there. Six feet under. He had bled all his feelings out that night, dead in the night. He wasn't supposed to feel it again.

Harry struggled to breathe, wheezing, punching his own chest again and again in case it may help push the memories back down where they had come from.

Back then, during the college trip, Zain had been wearing a black suit. His hear was gelled back. He remembered a friend saying, Zain looked like he had come straight out of a Vogue photoshoot. Harry had agreed. A red handkerchief peeked out his blazer pocket. Harry remembered being confused at its sight, but he couldn't recall just why. Why had an ordinary handkerchief puzzled him so much, made his heart beat faster in nervousness?

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He looked around again. This was the place he had roamed around back then. Harry and Alex, his friend, had gone out exploring. Harry walked again, following the same path he could remember from that time, and the closer he got to the destination, the more details he remembered. Sun rays peering from between the leaves and the branches of that old oak tree.

Alex had sat under its shade, and Harry stood against it, watching the sky. He had been happy back then. Truly happy. Something he wasn't today. His fingers had traced the trunk, coming to an abrupt stop when they fell upon a carving. _Harry._ Someone had carved his name there, dark, fresh blood stains smudging its perfection.

Today, his carving must still be there. If he wasn't going crazy, Harry would find that old oak tree and he'd find the carving. He didn't know what he was going to do with the knowledge of its presence, but he couldn't turn back now. He needed to be sure nothing that happened was an illusion.

It was naked. Completely bare, some branches broken and scattered around it. Harry almost ran over to it, stopping close enough. He took a deep breath, feeling like this was a big revelation he wasn't sure he had the strength to face.

Manning up, he looked for the exact spot in his memories. A little on the side, near the back of the trunk. Many seasons had come by, but his name was alive still there. A little sickly-looking, like it had gave up hope of Harry's return. Till to this day, Harry had no idea who had carved it. Who had _bled_ carving it.

His past weighed on him harder today. His shoulders trembled under the weight, and he almost collapsed right then and there. Silent tears streaming down his cheeks, his forehead against the trunk, hands holding onto it too for dear life. Could this tree provide any relief for him? Should he chase after memories again? Wouldn't he _die_ this time and... would it be so bad if he did? Truth was Harry would rather leave this world. He was tired.

He rolled his body and slid down, sitting up against the tree and holding his knees taut against his body. For a few moments, he didn't exist. The world was dead. He rested his head on his knees, closing his eyes softly and felt the wind slowly becoming harsher, slapping across his face like a taunt. He'd been a bad person.

He looked at the sky, trying to find a trace of God up there. It was a giant, black cloud now. Night was setting. No sight of the moon. Maybe, even God had turned His back on Harry.

Harry should be scared. It was so dark and there were no street lamps. He should be worried about finding his way back to the house, about wild animals roaming around. It may rain. It may thunder too.

A low branch's tip hit his head. Harry flinched, a soft material caressing his forehead not even a second later. He looked up at it, reaching his hand to the branch and holding it in front of him. It was a piece of cloth, tied to the fragile branch. Harry opened the knot, plaining the folds of the cloth and he realised then...it wasn't just a random piece. No.

This was the handkerchief from Zain's suit. Zain...had been the one to carve Harry's name?!


	13. THE RICH ODOUR OF ROSES

"Hey you!" Harry stood up from the cold ground immediately, now realising how much the wind had picked up speed and fury. "Are you fucking stupid?" Zain was moving toward him, fast-paced and from what Harry could figure out from the tone of his voice, enraged. "I don't have free time to go around looking for you." He wasn't clear. Harry couldn't properly distinguish his features and he was still far, coming up the small hill and the night was so bleak. "Don't just stare at me and get back! Dad is looking all over for you and he isn't happy."

Harry didn't know what to do now, as he held the handkerchief in his hand and looked towards the oncoming man whose was the possession he was holding right now. For someone else, a handkerchief and a carving could be anybody's belonging, it could be anybody else's feelings, the name carved could be anybody else's. There wasn't a lack of _Harry_ s in this world, after all.

But it had to be Zain. Everything here belonged to Zain. It couldn't be anybody else's because Harry remembered things, someone else wouldn't know. _You lied to me!_ That anger and disappointment back then wasn't all for naught. He knew now, why he had frowned at the sight of the red cloth on Zain's blazer pocket that day, and exactly why Zain had _glared_ at him that way. He knew now why Zain was still so upset. It was fair, Harry thought. It was fair.

Zain stood right in front of him now, staring at him the same way, all the softness of earlier gone from his eyes. "I just have to let my guard down _once_ , and people start thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want."

Now that Harry knew what had been hidden from him so mightily, he noticed the littlest things. The sparkle of Zain's eyes, his gaze racking all over Harry from head to toe as if he expected Harry to be injured but hoped he wasn't. There was a subtle shift from his stiff posture, his muscles relaxing as he found out nothing bad had happened to Harry, and then the stiffness came back again. He was upset. Not because he hated Harry, but because he had been so worried, and Harry was here in front of the tree that held Zain's prettiest secrets.

"Don't look at me like that." Zain spoke, quieter than before. Harry could have said that too. _Don't keep looking at me like that either or else all hell will break loose_. Zain broke the contact, glancing away for a second before snatching the handkerchief from Harry's hold and turning his back toward the younger. "I don't like repeating myself. Get back home. Dad's upset; he might even fire you today."

He stuffed the hankie in his jeans' pocket hurriedly and began walking away, further, and further, his body becoming a mere silhouette under the dim moonlight.

Harry's heart ached and he rubbed his chest instinctively as if there was a bruise needing to be soothed. There wasn't of course. It was all inside him, and honestly, he'd take any hits and cuts and physical scars, over _this_. The inner pain, something that was harder to see, an anguish much more amplified but spread all over so it wasn't just one part of him that ached.

He followed the path Zain had taken. With each step, the pain would shift to a different part of his body. Sometimes, his knees would threaten to give out under him, other times his fingers ached in blue. Sometimes, his head throbbed and other times, a certain weight would fall upon his eyes.

Everything had gone from a single, straight line to rapid, jerky zigzag lines in the span of one day, and Harry was now afraid. He was afraid it'd all come back to him, and all the aims and ambitions he carried as a new man, would turn over again to the ugly side.

Aliya was waiting for him on the threshold, biting on her nails before she ran to him and embraced him. Harry hugged her back. "Harry...where did you go? You should have at least let us know."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, just...dad's really angry. You just apologise to him okay? Promise him it won't happen again, and he'll let you stay. He won't fire you; I promise." Harry nodded against her shoulder, then leaned away. He found it hard to smile at her again, too tired to let go, but afraid it'd make it worse for him.

Zain hadn't come in front of him again. His door room was shut firmly, no peeking inside. Harry had invaded his privacy already, so he didn't stop and stare at the shut entrance. He walked past it like nothing had happened. This was for the good. He was going to be a good person now,

He knocked on Hashim's office door. "Come in." As told by both Zain and Aliya, Hashim did sound quite furious. Harry took a moment before turning the knob and opening the door. He walked inside, Hashim's focus on the laptop in front of him. That man must be some kind of workaholic. Harry kept looking down, hands behind him as he stopped in front of the desk and waited for Hashim to acknowledge him. "Where have you been?"

"I...eh...I had forgotten my jacket home and I was cold, so I went to find it. I got lost on the way. I'm sorry."

"This isn't your first time here." Harry looked up, taken aback. There was no way Hashim knew that Harry had been here before. Hashim looked up from his laptop too, leaning back against his chair and staring at Harry ominously. "I'm the most reputable man in this country, I wouldn't want a _stain_ on my reputation. Do you know why I accepted you here despite your past?" Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat and shook his head, his gaze falling back to the floor. "Because I believe everyone deserves a second chance."

Hashim stood up from his chair, coming to stand beside Harry. "I can be the nicest man you will ever meet, to the ones who _try_ and can make good use of opportunities. Like your brothers." He paused. Harry could feel Hashim's sharp eyes on him and he almost flinched when the latter's hand came to squeeze his shoulder. "But to people who never learn, I can be a _fucking beast_." Harry's breath got stuck in his throat. "And you...would not want that. Would you?"

"N-no...no sir."

Hashim hummed, going back to his seat. "You can leave now."


	14. LITTLE DARLING, STAY A LITTLE LONGER

When Harry laid down on his bed that night, he couldn't quieten down his surroundings. His pulse was roaring in his ears, a constant, loud, and obnoxious _thump thump_ that beat against his neck and head, even his cheeks at some point. It'd only silence when he laid down facing up and yet still, it was not a complete silence like he'd wanted. There was still the thumping at the back of his head, and the feeling of falling off the stairs or the bed. His body would gasp, his eyes snap open and he'd realize he wasn't falling actually. That it was all in his head.

When that happened, Harry liked to believe today was just all in his head too. Nothing had felt real, after all. Not the returning memories, or Zain's gaze and that handkerchief, the carving of his name, the still apparent smudges of blood on it. His brothers thought everything was turning back to normal, but they had no clue. Normal had been scrubbed off the palette of his life. Normal...didn't exist for Harry anymore. It was gone. Harry would forever be the dusty corners of a room, impossible to clean, to rid itself of unnecessary filth.

_Harry had been running for a while now. His smile hadn't been wiped off yet, however. He had to wait a whole week to see him, and each time the day of their meeting would come, Harry would run like a madman, let other civilians stare at him judgmentally. He didn't care on that day._

_His bag was falling off his shoulders, his long coat dancing behind him with the wind. He used to have longer curls back then, and they'd frolic around his face, the wind turning the tip of his nose red. He could imagine him, Elijah, lazily lying down on the old divan sofa that had been pushed against the wall. It suited better there, and they could watch out the window too at the laburnums with their golden blossoms, whose branches seemed too tremulous to carry a beauty so flamelike as theirs._

_Elijah would be smoking, as he always did. Harry used to get upset. It was like Elijah had no care for his life. For Harry, smoking one day meant one day erased from his future and that, would eventually mean, saying farewell. Too soon. He didn't want to lose Elijah. Not now, not ever._

_He knew the day would come when they'd be caught. He knew it would happen inevitably, and he did want to prepare for it, but every time he'd try to talk about it with Elijah, the latter would shut him down. With butterfly kisses, or rather sunny days. Some days they'd trace the fold of the silk curtains, Harry's fingertips, and Elijah's hand over his softly._

_The sunlight would flood in. Harry liked to see Elijah's eyes when the light poured upon his face, enthralled by their beauty, their transition from a pecan brown, to that watery caramel shade that Harry loved so much. "Look at me", and Elijah would chuckle, knowing exactly why. He'd let Harry with his delicate fingers on Elijah's chin, turn his face around and he'd look at Harry with all the adoration in the world. He used to let Harry watch as long as he wanted. They rarely talked, just letting their bodies get acquainted, shy, hesitant fingers up all over each other. It felt perfect._

_Today was no different. Harry opened the door, bursting in with his beguiling innocence, his dimpled smiles. Elijah jumped in front of him, scaring the hell out of Harry. He laughed, as Harry pressed a hand to his chest, his green eyes wide and horrified. "Fuck you!" Elijah did a funny face and Harry finally let go too, lips curling up in a smile as he let his bag fall down his arms, taking Elijah into his arms._

_The latter embraced him taut, smoothly dragging Harry in so he could shut the door quickly before anyone spotted them here so close. "Missed you so much." Elijah muttered into his curls, holding him tighter._

_The bees sullenly muttered as they flew low outside, through the unmown grass, some circling the woodbines insistently. Between the sweet waft of the half-petalled roses and Elijah's exotic scent, was chocolate. Harry's sight fell upon the container of cookies placed on the small table in front of the sofa and he squealed, like a little kid who had just received his favourite toy. "You made cookies again!" He didn't wait another moment, opening the lid and stuffing his mouth with one, waiting for Elijah to join him._

_"I cannot believe you keep ditching me for cookies. They aren't even half as tasty as me."_

_"Yes, they are. More than you, I must say."_

_Elijah's jaw hung, and he pressed a hand to his chest. "You actually hurt me, Harry."_

_Harry shrugged nonchalantly, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Sorry baby, I only speak the truth."_

_"Alright...I'm heading out then." Elijah made a big show of standing up, wearing his coat back. "I'm actually going. Like for real." Harry didn't pay him attention, busy finishing the last cookie. "I'll go for real, then you can wait another 6 days for me." Elijah narrowed his eyes at an unbothered, mute Harry and scoffed. He took a few steps far from Harry, turning back around to look at the curly lad. "Don't text me, I won't reply. Harry!"_

_"Just go if you wish. I won't text you."_

_"You are unbelievable."_

_"I know."_

_Harry smirked, knowing Elijah wouldn't leave him. Not today when they had both waited 6 whole days to see each other again. They always joked around like that. Harry could watch Elijah leaving and pretend like it didn't always scare him that one day he'd actually do. Elijah would always come back though, sulking, annoyed and Harry'd kiss him and touch him and tell him 'I love you' and all the sulking and annoyance would disappear._

_The door slammed shut. "If I go, you won't find me easily again!" Elijah shouted from outside, his tone giving away his playfulness. Harry chuckled, grabbing the red handkerchief that Elijah had left here and messing around with it. This was their token of love. This was what they had bonded over. A random, scarlet piece of cloth. Who thought it'd come to mean so much to Harry?_

_The last time, Elijah had made a joke about leaving, he was already pressing his nose and hands to the window not even five minutes later, complaining about how Harry didn't care about him. He'd moan about being lonely, being betrayed and left. Harry would always ignore his dramatic dialogues, and then Elijah would burst into the house again, kissing him senseless._

_It had gone past five minutes today. There were no knocks on the window to grab Harry's attention, no more theatrical expressions of disappointment or heroic entries through the door, wind and silver-lined sun rays, the sugary waft of roses clinging onto him._

_Harry swallowed down thickly, heart picking up speed as he stood up from the sofa, sliding the window open and looking around. "Elijah?!" The laburnums were still, the bees still circling woodbines and the unmown grass. The sky was darkening with heavy clouds. "Elijah, are you hiding? Look, please come out okay?! I was lying. Just come back now, you're scaring me."_

_Harry sat back down on the couch, waiting again. Elijah was coming. There was no way he'd abandon Harry like this. No. They had put too much effort into their relationship to let it go to waste now. Elijah would never leave him._

_Harry's curls flowed here and there, unruly, as the wind blew with force. It was going to rain. Harry stood up, slowly walking to the door. He'd open the door and Elijah would jump and scare him again. Yes. It was going to happen like that. He turned the knob, squeezing shut his eyes. When he opened them, Elijah would be here, yelling "got ya!" But he wasn't. Not anywhere around the front of the house._

_Out of every hardship that Harry endure since then, none had been as excruciating as the simple act of waiting. Waiting. Just staring at everything around you, not knowing what had happened, hoping, and hoping it'd all be fine, and this was just a big prank. Elijah could be dead. He could have been caught and punished. Elijah could have gotten really upset at Harry's joke. He could have left him on purpose. He may have moved far away from him. Maybe he was just focusing on his studies were now. Exams were approaching. They didn't have time for rendezvous. Waiting carried so much uncertainty. It was the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Harry could have found out Elijah was cheating on him and it'd hurt way less than this. He could have found him dead somewhere, and it'd be less trifling than this._

_He ran around the unkept garden around that house, and he searched the streets near it, the shops, and the cafes and all the spots Elijah had ever talked about. It was like he had disappeared off the face of the earth, and Harry felt like someone had taken a crucial part of him without which, life was almost unbearable. Like a limb, or a fistful of his heart. "I won't ditch you for cookies again. I won't even eat them anymore. Just come back, stop playing with me."_

Harry didn't remember when Elijah had returned. He knew they'd been together when Harry was caught, he knew they'd been holding hands and he knew that he had let the handkerchief drop somewhere under that tunnel through which they passed. It was night-time, it was snowing, and they had crouched down behind a wall, peeking into the alleyway where Jacob and the police were searching.

That was quite some time ago, but Benjamin and the pastor and every other person that he had bumped into after that day, had been wrong. About how the past could be erased, or buried, or how easily he could move on if he just cooperated with them and went through that awful, gut-wrenching process of rehabilitation. They were wrong about how you could bury the past so quickly. Harry found today that he had never stood up from behind that wall. He was still crouching behind it, peeking into the alleyway and everyone was still the same way, looking for him in case he may make a mistake and be caught. Again.


	15. SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER'S DAY

Harry was helping Siena with the laundry when a sweet melody breezed past his ears. He looked towards the garden door, towards the inside where Aliya had taken over the piano at the far corner, near the fireplace. An involuntary smile appeared on his face, as he watched her, only her back visible but he could just imagine her rhythmic fingers, the way she'd make the prettiest sounds. Aliya and art were one, like soulmates.

"Go. Listen. Go." Siena spoke at last, her eyes twinkling with knowledge and softness. She shooed him away when Harry insisted to help her, and he wondered whether his mother would behave like this too. He had never seen her, and hence he never missed her, but he did wonder every now and then, how she'd be if she was still here. He learned that Jacob and Benjamin weren't very fond of her, but he never found out exactly why. Not that he was particularly curious, he really couldn't give a damn. His life right now was enough trouble already, there was no need to add to the struggle.

He slid open the glass door, sitting down on the couch near the fireplace, opposite Aliya's piano and he watched her. She was so professional, so light on her touch, so immersed in her music. Once upon a time, Elijah had made him feel like that.

The more he heard the varying melodies of the piano, the more he began to remember all the sweet moments he had spent with Elijah. Harry thought they'd make it. Harry thought there was a forever etched into Elijah, that if they ever died, they'd die together. Things turned out differently, but if Elijah was really dead, it wasn't as if Harry felt any bit alive. Just one confirmation, and he'd go. He'd jump too. This world was so much better when everyone believed in _love_ and didn't put it in a category.

He looked towards the fire. Hashim hadn't appeared yet, so Harry could sit here for a while and he could be near Aliya and have her smile at him. He could smile back; he could hum softly. He could be sad within Aliya's company, even if it was wordless, without fearing Hashim's glare. For a moment, it was all good.

The flames crackled, layers upon layers of scorching oranges and radiant yellows, the sudden sparks up and gone. Harry with his cold fingers, reached his tips to the flames to warm them up.

_Harry leaned against his locker and held the letter in his hand._

_'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and temperate.'_

_Remind me of the first time I ever saw you; your lips a cotton candy dream. I wondered forevermore how it felt like to touch them and I knew before anything even began that I'd never know. It has been a much saddening realization. It has put me in a lifetime of tests and struggles._

_One day, I'll watch you from afar like I always do, but not in a classroom with your wide, beaming eyes and a raised hand for that answer you are so confident about. I'll watch you from afar, you with no knowledge of me, holding the hands of a beautiful lady I will never be able to compete against, and I'll watch you as you kiss her with the same remarkable lips, I have spent nights writing sonnets about._

_If you ever come to know my aching fingers, and tired eyes, I hope you find that it's you. It's been you since the first time I laid eyes on your dazzling skin. My hands have reached for yours too many times to count, to only stop, so close to you. Even at a distance, your scent is one that permeates the deepest parts of me. I'm afraid I have become less me and more you, your fragrance clinging to my flesh taut._

_I hope once, just once, you'll notice this unknown lover that will forever have you in his heart. Yes, his. That is why I say I will never know how it feels to be with you, all over you, inside you, and to know what it's like to be able to kiss you and hold you in my embraces for an entire night. You may be disgusted now, you may want me to stop these letters, but Harry that is the only thing I cannot stop._

_You see, you're the entire universe in ecstatic splendour. I'd die to lock gazes with you, but then again, I don't know if I'd ever survive that either. So, maybe, it is good I haven't known you from so near. If I shed tears for you day and night today, what would happen if I had you with me? I'd completely lose my sanity, my heart too, because you'd have it. You'd have so much power over me, I'm unsure whether I could ever deal with that. So, maybe, it is good._

_To be in love is one thing, but to give into it entirely is another._

Harry flinched, a sudden pain rising along his fingers. He looked at his hands. Someone was holding his wrist, pulling at it to make him get up. There was no longer the sound of piano, and when Harry turned his head around at the instrument, Aliya was stood against it with a worried expression as he was being dragged along to somewhere. Confused, still half-conscious about the present, he turned back to the front. Zain.

It was Zain, holding his wrist, posture stiff as usual, muttering something incoherent under his breath. Harry frowned, stopping immediately. Why would Zain, ever, hold him that way? Harry hissed at the pain, bringing his hands up and watching the burnt tips. This was why he shouldn't think so deeply about the past. The pastor had told him it'd only bring destruction his way, and perhaps, about this, the pastor was right.

Zain turned around. "What? I've never seen a bigger idiot than you." And he dragged him along again, towards the kitchen. He opened the tap for cool water and reached Harry's hand under it. Harry winced, and Zain glanced at him, his gaze one that Harry had never seen before. Unfathomable, but Harry had his guesses.

No matter how much he tried to stop, he still found himself delving deeper into restricted territories and not even due to his own curiosity, for Lord knew Harry did not want it. He did not want to know. He wanted to stay ignorant and leave this place. But it was like a force, something incontrollable that was pushing him towards the edge, and he didn't know how it'd end up this time. He was terrified.

"If you love hurting yourself so much, do it somewhere else. We don't want to take the blame for your suicide." Harry almost laughed. Suicide? If Harry was that brave, he'd had done it long ago. It was much easier to be killed, than do it on your own.

Still holding his wrist, Zain turned the tap off and cleaned his hand with a dried cloth. This care...it wasn't coming from the point of a man who didn't want a scratch on his dignity and reputation. No. Harry knew more now than he knew yesterday. Today, Zain wasn't an unreasonable douche who hated Harry for getting close with his brother. Today, Zain was the man behind the letters Harry so often received back in the lost days. Today, this was a man hiding behind an ugly mask, trying to keep secret the feelings that were impossible to conceal. _Don't hurt yourself in front of me. Don't do it when I'm here and I can't show you how much it agonizes me._

Harry chuckled, in a bittersweet manner, locking eyes with Zain who looked at him baffled as he stopped applying petroleum jelly on his fingers. Harry released his wrist from Zain's hold and instead, held _his_ hand.

There were some fading ink marks, others still fresh. The sides of his thumb and index finger pushed down slightly from holding a pen so hard, for so long. _If you ever come to know my aching fingers_...Harry gazed up Zain's eyes, yellowing with yearnings and resistance... _and tired eyes..._ Zain's hand trembled in his hold and he looked away from Harry as if what he had written in that letter was true, that he'd barely survive locking gazes with him... _I hope you find that it's you._

"So, maybe, it is good I haven't known you from so near."

Zain seemed to have frozen, right then and there, as soon as Harry uttered those words. It must have been a trifling experience, to hear his written words, his _secret_ words, be spoken out loud, by the one he had written them for. It must have been quite the experience to find out he wasn't just an anonymous, _unknown_ lover anymore. That Harry knew now. And this would be the last time Harry would look him in the eyes, because for the rest of his life now, he'd be too ashamed to do it again.

Zain took a sharp breath and jerked his hand away from Harry's. The latter turned his gaze to the floor because this was it. The end of the moment of their last contact. It'd never happen again, even though Harry wasn't sure about his heart anymore.

He could feel Zain's eyes on him, could feel him wanting to say something to Harry; he could feel Zain struggling to decide what he should do now that everything was out, and maybe he was waiting for Harry to do something more. Harry's prolonged silence after that horrific revelation must have been a disappointment.


	16. TEAR THIS HOUSE BRICK BY BRICK

Harry realized also at the moment, that he hadn't yet heard Zain call out his names. Every time, Zain opened his mouth now, right in front of him, Harry wondered if he'd say it now. _Say it._ But Zain would just close his mouth back, as if he hadn't got a damn clue what to say. What would be the right thing to say? Harry put him in such an uncomfortable position.

Harry could hear Zain's breaths, jagged, mirroring Harry's own. Harry didn't know why he felt it was necessary to remind Zain of something he was probably trying to forget. Harry wouldn't have liked anyone poking on his wounds either. Zain must feel annoyed, angry, grief-stricken. And who knew if Harry was ever reading Zain correctly? Zain could have moved on. He had Zakariya now...right? Harry wasn't a good judge of character or feelings, so he could easily be wrong.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Zain finally did something. Harry with his gaze lowered caught Zain's hand reaching into his jeans' pocket, and what came out of there was exactly what Harry had expected. The hankie. Because between them and the past, this was the only thing that was both a source of joy and pain at the same time.

Zain grabbed his hand again, his own hands shaking, as he wrapped the red fabric around his fingers. Harry could tell Zain, it wasn't going to help the burn, it was useless in its purpose. If burns got healed by wrapping a random cloth onto them, life would get so much easier right?

But of course, the handkerchief was never about that. Zain didn't want to hold onto it any longer. He knew the only person who wouldn't throw the piece away, or toss it somewhere carelessly, the only one who would treat it like his life depended on it was Harry. It was like giving his heart to Harry, once more, in all its tangibility. Harry trembled under its weight, feeling tears collecting in his eyes.

"Dad...you're back early." Aliya's voice snapped them out of the moment they shared. Zain took two steps away from Harry immediately. The latter turned his back to him, holding onto the sink tightly and staring at the red piece of fabric around his fingers. He heard Zain's steps getting away from him, and he squeezed his eyes shut close in pai, a tear sliding down and falling off his cheek.

Harry had known the essence of physical hurt, the kind of hurt that tore you apart, turned you inside out. Because he had known to touch something he loved. He had known the sense of a lover's touch, so the pain he felt at the separation and during his rehabilitation, it was all physical. His body ached, his chest constricted painfully, his eyes burnt every time he opened them and didn't find Elijah sitting in front of him. He had felt the withdrawals of not having Elijah's mouth on his skin, knees knocking against each other, feet playing under the covers. Lips. It was excruciating to have his lips itching and bleeding, because they no longer had _his_ over them.

But Zain, he had gone through the worst. To be mistaken. To be unknown. To be replaced when he had done all the effort. _He_ had cried over Harry. _He_ had to hide _for_ Harry. _He_ had to remain silent when someone else got to Harry before he could. He was the one to have lost himself. He was the one who had bled first; _he had been the one who had loved Harry first_. And it wasn't fair. For someone who had risked it all for Harry, it was fucking unbearable to be left behind.

Harry wouldn't complain anymore. Zain could be as rude as he wanted. He could walk past Harry and bump into him hard purposely as he much as he wanted. Heck, he could ask Harry to leave once again and Harry would do it. He'd do it all if it meant Zain would feel better. All that pent up anger had a reason after all. Everything that Zain had gone through was Harry's fault.

"Hey."

Harry took a deep breath, wiping his tear-streaked cheeks with his hands. He winced again at the burns, then faced Aliya. He knew Aliya must have figured it out. She didn't look apprehensive though. Maybe because this involved her brother. If it was just Harry and some other guy she didn't know, perhaps she'd be more hesitant, annoyed even.

"I was just gonna...ehm...make dinner."

Aliya sighed, getting closer to him, and holding his hand, the one that Zain wrapped the handkerchief around. "Dad's not going to be home today, and...Zain told me he was ordering something from out." Harry glanced away, clutching his hand to his chest with the other hand as Aliya let it go. "I'm here for you, Harry." Harry looked at her, so close to falling apart. Aliya smiled, pressing her hand to his cheek softly. "No matter what."

She said that so easily, in such an understanding and soft way. If he ever had a sister, she would be like Aliya. Maybe his mother would be like that too. She'd understand him. She'd protect him from everyone. She'd know exactly what to say and exactly when. She'd know and she'd love Harry unconditionally. It would come easy to her. Did love come easy to Aliya?

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as he let himself open his heart to her warmth and comfort. He needed her, now, like never before. He couldn't say farewell again and he couldn't bring himself to be harsh to her, to push her away when she was the brightest star in his life.

"I need you. Will you stay?"

"I promise." Harry pulled away from her, and Aliya still with her reassuring smile, wiped his cheeks with her own hands, kissing him on the forehead. She cupped his face in her hands. "I have a secret too. Wanna hear it?"

Harry nodded. Aliya grinned, holding his hand and dragging him upstairs to her bedroom. He waited for sat down on the bed as she searched through her bag and got her phone out. A different one than she'd usually carry.

She sat by him, her excitement infusing into him. He found himself waiting excitedly for what she had to tell him. She unlocked the phone, pressing onto the gallery icon.

He looked at the picture, getting the phone from her and staring at it. It was Aliya and another man, Chinese from what he looked like. He looked so mature but soft and lovely at the same time. Harry chuckled. "Never thought you'd have a boyfriend."

"Why not?" She laughed, forcing him to see their pictures as she slid to the right. There were so many, them kissing, them laughing, lying together, making funny faces, holding hands.

"I don't know. You put on this unapproachable aura when you go out and you used to say how men disgust you. I thought it'd be hard for a man to ever find his way to your heart."

She hummed, a silly smile still on her face. "I thought that too. He had a super hard time trying to get me to go out with him. I kept kicking in the balls." Harry frowned at her, wondering if she was joking. "Not a joke. It actually happened every time he approached me. Ugh, he was _so_ annoying." Harry raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged nonchalantly. She took the phone from him and turned it off again, placing it on the bed between them. "I don't know if it's going to work out, but I feel like...even if someday we have to part ways...these days will get me through the hardest times. As long as I have some sort of memories of love to hold onto, everything is going to be okay."

"You're okay with...this being temporary? Are a few memories enough to spend the rest of your life?"

"You can't be sure with life Harry. I could die tomorrow. Do I want to regret not giving my heart a chance, or do I want to fly and feel and know what actual freedom tastes like?" Harry hummed. "He wants to meet my dad. He says there's no harm in trying, but I know...I know my dad is not gonna assent to this. I mean, betraying two wives and having an affair with a third woman ain't as morally wrong as being in love with a man of different race, right?" She rolled her eyes, sighing again. Harry took her into his arms again, but this time for her, not for himself.


	17. TO FEEL AND FALL AND FLOAT

Harry put on his black, puffer jacket and a beanie before going out. It was 7:30 pm, the rain had stopped but the wind was still chilly. Since he didn't have to cook, the siblings, Siena and him were just now waiting for their order to arrive, but Harry felt too overwhelmed at home. A walk would be the perfect way to clear his mind.

He closed the door behind him, nodding at the guard outside. He felt pity for that man, having to stand outside for so long in this cold. It must be a hassle and Harry hoped mister Hashim paid him accordingly.

It was dark. Not that Harry expected it to be all bright and shiny, but he also didn't expect it to be this dark. It was like being in the middle of slumber, deeply unconscious. He had heard it was like being dead. He shook his head at the morbid notion, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets and walking faster, as if it'd help him warm up quicker. Thankfully, he could see light a bit farther coming from the street lamps, and he rushed towards it.

His phone rang twice but he didn't have the energy to speak to anyone, or even hear. He had enough of that the past few days, and he also had enough of remembering. So, tonight, he would sleep. He would not try to recall anything, and he would not get in Zain's way, and he would just focus on the present. Himself. Alive and breathing and _converted._ Apparently.

Maybe he could give a go at praying too, since the last he had done that was with his brothers over the short-lived weekend holiday he had. Harry may be a sinner in the eyes of society, but it didn't mean he had lost hope or connection with a superior being. He still believed that one day all his prayers would be accepted, and all his wishes and dreams would come true because he'd been good. It was the least he deserved after making it through rehabilitation without much of a protest. He could have easily rebelled, but he knew nothing would come out of it. It wasn't as if running away from that centre would be fruitful, because where was Elijah?

Harry sighed. He was doing what he had decided he wouldn't. Thinking about the past. Nope. He was going to focus on something else, like how the leaves rustled under his feet or how Harry was getting adjusted to the dark. He could distinguish between the night sky and the heavy clouds preparing to burst. The silhouettes of trees were starting to become clearer, birds' nests peeking through. Every now and then, Harry found the moon mischievously seeking him and he'd smile at it as if there wasn't a time where he hated its sight.

Perhaps, he was beginning to like it again. The moon. He had fallen in love with that giant piece of rock after meeting Elijah. The guy loved it to bits and hearing him talk about the moon so much, Harry had begun to find it beautiful too. How must it feel to be there, so far, among all the other stars, infinite. 'Cause the day they died, they didn't really lose it all did they? They always had a next life to look forward to. As a new star, a brighter one, prettier, bigger, more loveable.

It was a shame there was no next life for Harry, or for any of Earth's mortals here. He knew there were many who believed in that concept, but Harry wasn't one of them so...it was a shame. Truly. There was no way he could be born again and redeem himself.

_ 'Out between ideas of  _ _ wrongdoing _ _ and  _ _ rightdoing _ _ , there is a field.  _ _ I'll _ _ meet you there.' _

_ If you  _ _ wish _ _ to know who  _ _ I _ _ am, come with an open mind and a gentle soul even if it is to let me down.  _

_ The park nearest to you, close to the oldest tree  _ _ I'll _ _ be waiting for you, holding a red  _ _ handkerchief _ _. at twilight, when the whole  _ _ world's _ _ dead. _

There Harry went again, thinking the unthinkable, about the past he was not supposed to remember anymore. He didn't want it. He didn't want to know what had happened back then, how he went wrong and astray and how it all ended up. The more he fell into those wells, the more the wind and water crushed his hope.

Hope was never created to be erased. Hope was God's word and Harry didn't want to lose it. Not yet at least.

He sat down on a bench nearby. Any person that came for deliveries would pass from here so Harry would know when to be back at the house. Not _home._ He leaned back against the bench's backrest, a leg over the other as he looked up at the sky. Elijah had been like that too. The day Harry had gone to see him for the first time. In the nearest park, under the oldest tree as he looked up at the branches and leaves. It was still summer that day.

His diamond eyes awaiting him, the sunlight pouring upon his face in waves. He was a few shades darker than Harry, but his skin glowed as if he had been sent straight from heaven. As if God had himself breathed upon him.

He had stood up as soon as he had seen Harry, and Harry...lovesick as he was, crushing hard over a classmate had found it all endearing. Elijah had been his longest love interest, and to see that the feelings were reciprocated had been unbelievably _breathtaking._

_"_ _You_ _lied_ _to me!"_

_"And_ _I'm_ _sorry_ _for that, but..._ _I_ _had been thinking_ _for_ _the longest time, and then_ _I_ _saw that note and_ _I_ _thought-"_

_"And_ _you_ _thought you_ _could_ _just lie to me and_ _pretend_ _to be someone_ _you're_ _not!" Harry was furious. If there was_ _anything_ _beyond furious, he was that. Out of all the_ _people_ _he had met and_ _known_ _, Elijah was the last one Harry had expected to cheat like that._

_Elijah bowed his head in shame, and Harry shook his head in disappointment. "So...what happened to the actual_ _guy_ _who sent me all these_ _letters_ _, huh? Did you-"_

_"No. I'd never do_ _anything_ _...like that. The guy wasn't even there. There was no one other than us, don't you remember? He ditched you!"_

_Harry_ _knew Elijah was looking for justifications and_ _defences_ _to stand strong and loveable_ _still_ _, but Harry was so confused now. He didn't know if he_ _should_ _just believe whatever Elijah_ _was_ _saying_ _and continue on to love him, despite the lies._ _Elijah_ _had_ _practically_ _stolen someone's_ _efforts_ _and feelings._

 _He also had no_ _clue_ _why two_ _people_ _would fall for him. It's_ _more_ _understandable_ _to_ _have_ _faith in_ _your_ _worth when one person falls for_ _you_ _, because_ _you_ _know it's bound to happen at least once in_ _your_ _life. The second time is never_ _guaranteed_ _and_ _especially_ _at the same time? Never._

_Harry sighed at last and stepped away from Elijah's reaching fingers. The latter seemed to be crumbling right in front of him, but Harry needed time to_ _process_ _this new revelation. Elijah_ _was_ _not_ _the_ _one Harry was supposed to fall for, and sure it wasn't_ _wrong_ _that he ended up in love with_ _someone_ _else, but there was someone out there who had tried the_ _hardest_ _. There was someone out there that deserved Harry's_ _acknowledgement_ _at least._

_"I_ _need_ _a break."_

The flashback ended as soon as a car passed by Harry in unbelievable speed. It startled the man, and he realized instead of clearing his mind he had just cluttered it instead. This was the worst time he had in a while. The more he tried to escape his past, the more it'd run at him like a wild, starving animal.

He stood up from the bench and began walking towards the house. Hashim wasn't here. Zain would be in his room. Harry didn't expect, even want, for Zain to be out once Harry was back. He couldn't face him anymore. Everything just hurt, just plunged him into this unending well of grief and remorse and pain, utter pain...there was only so much he could handle.

The trip to this festival had happened exactly a week later after Elijah had come clean about his lie. Harry had decided to forgive him and to go back to him, running breathlessly because he was a man in love and those were stupid, and easy and _too_ forgiving. He had missed Elijah so much, it seemed to have affected his physical health too. He would forget to eat, or to sleep as he watched the moon for hours on end, thinking about shared moments and imagining new ones.

So, yes, he forgave and forgot and moved on and then _boom,_ there he was in front of the original man behind the letters and the red handkerchief and the carvings on the tree. It had fucked him up. And to be honest, today wasn't any different than that day in the past. There was no way Harry would ever find himself wishing to look at Zain, when it had taken Harry _so_ long to know and realise and perhaps...love.


	18. I JUST WANT TO TELL YOU I'M HOME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter, and will probably edit it out later but since I hadn't updated yesterday, I couldn't just not publish this today! Hope you enjoy and do leave some comments, votes and share with your friends if you'd like! <3

The delivery guy was already heading back when Harry finally arrived at the house. The warmth inside was so overwhelmingly relieving that Harry couldn't help but to throw himself on the couch as soon as he stepped foot into the living room. His legs were aching at this point, nose runny as he wiped it with a tissue. The burnt fingers didn't help either. What was he thinking getting so close to the flames?

Aliya appeared a few moments later, from the kitchen. Harry had completely forgotten pizza had been delivered. He immediately got up, reaching for the boxes and the sauce bottles she was holding, but Aliya didn't let him take it from her hand. "Allow us to serve _you_ today." She spoke, her eyes twinkling with both mischief and kindness.

Harry was about to retaliate when she interrupted him, as if reading his mind. "Yes, but you're injured and you're cold too, so I think you deserve a break." She shooed him away, and after a few more protests, Harry finally gave in and sat back down on the couch, awaiting Aliya's service. "Today I present you chicken pizza with a side of garlic and mayo sauce and ketchup. Tomorrow...who knows?!" She grinned, placing the stuff down and running back to the kitchen for the coke cans. "Zain! Come down, pizza's here!"

Harry had planned very firmly he was not going to get into Zain's way for the rest of the 4 months he still had left, and neither was he going to lock gazes with him or speak to him. He was not going to repeat past mistakes. It was too soon to be crushing over a new person, and Harry didn't even know what kind of man Zain was yet. They had barely talked. Zain barely was seen out of his bedroom and the only person that did know Zain more than the common man, was Zakariya. Harry had already fallen out with that guy too.

Even if Harry did know who Zain was, it would be pure idiocy if Harry went on and began fantasizing about a male prodigy again. He knew the outcome already; he had experienced the consequences too. Harry would be lying if he said he was ready to go through rehabilitation again, or even...a death penalty. He'd promise himself he'd survive, and no matter how guilty he felt regarding Zain, he wouldn't let it blind him anymore.

"Hey, come back. Where did you go?" Harry looked towards Aliya, shaking his head as he tried to smile. She noticed it immediately. "I'll go give the pizza to Zain upstairs, if you don't want him here." It was too late. Zain was already here, gazing down at Harry with a question in his eyes. Did he want him gone? "Hey, Z ehm, why don't you take this-"

"It's okay." The lame attempt at a smile became even more forceful. Harry looked at Aliya, reassuring her through his eyes, then turned back to Zain. "You should join us." Zain hummed, sitting on the opposite couch to him and Aliya. Zain's hands were closed into fists, loosening up slightly as he waited for Aliya to grab the chilly sauce she forgot in the kitchen.

Both Harry and Zain remained silent, eyes never meeting. Harry wondered whether he had done wrong to let Zain know he remembered the past. Zain had always been distant ever since Harry set foot here, but there was something more hesitant and careful now. It was never there. Before, Zain just wanted Harry to see how angry he was, now, it seemed like he regretted or maybe he was done. Completely.

Harry didn't know which was worse, to be constantly made to realise how he had fucked up, or to be treated like the past hadn't ever happened.

Aliya came back moments later, such a sunshine, with her chunky boots and plaid pants. "Since we're all intellectuals here, we should actually _converse_." Harry chuckled, nodding as she opened the pizza box and passed a piece to Zain. "Right, Zain?"

The latter shrugged nonchalantly, too busy focusing on the food than anything else. "You're a great conversation starter. I'll try to be useful every now and then." And that...was the most Harry had heard Zain's voice outside of the singing. Two whole sentences. Goodness, Harry loved it.

Aliya rolled her eyes, then turned her attention to Harry and his piece. Harry looked at it and with a sheepish smile, slowly whispered. "It hurts." Aliya glanced at his fingers, stiff, a mixture of the flames and the wind that had both lapped at his skin. She muttered a quick apology, reaching the tip of the pizza to his mouth. He took a bite, embarrassed, not liking the situation he got himself in. He had always hated relying on people, and especially for the littlest things. Plus, what about his job? If the pain didn't subside by tomorrow, Hashim wouldn't waste a moment replacing him, and Harry couldn't afford that.

He had to prove many things to his brother and other acquaintances if he wished to survive this life. And if Harry was honest, no matter how much he desired to disappear, deep down he wanted to live. He wanted to be someone, he wanted to achieve a lot. He wanted to leave with an impact, like everyone else, but it was different for Harry. H

Harry wanted to become a big man. Powerful and wealthy, someone who could be recognised and considered seriously. Then, he'd stand for his rights. Then he could speak about his concerns about this society and their fear of love, and he could actually make a difference. He could help others stuck in the same boat, who had no one to go to, no help to escape unjust punishments. He could stop others from becoming the next _Harry_ s and _Elijah_ s. And _Zain_ s.

"Did you know Zakariya got engaged?" Aliya suddenly spoke, her usual deep voice now turning high pitched. She was looking at her phone, Instagram opened on the screen and Zakariya's post. It was his hand with a pretty, silver ring. _#engaged_. It was a shock of course, such sudden information and it wasn't like Zakariya had just suddenly adopted a new pet, or he began dating someone. No. This was an engagement. The road to marriage, and wasn't there something going on between him and Zain? Did Zain know?

Harry and Aliya simultaneously looked at Zain askew, who continued munching on the pizza and drinking coke. "He told me yesterday." Harry watched for hints of despair or surprise or even, frustration but there was nothing of the sort on Zain's face or body language. He frowned, confused, not knowing what it all meant, but maybe just like every other time, Harry had misinterpreted their relationship. Zain raised an eyebrow at Aliya, taking a quick glance at Harry. "What? Suraya wanted him to marry the daughter of her sister. We all knew that didn't we?"

"Yes, but...he was strongly opposing to it. That's why he came over to stay the week right? Because they had an argument and he threatened that he'd leave if she forced him?"

"He did. He liked someone else..." Zain glanced at Harry again, this time longer than before, "...but it was never going to work out with them, so he decided he might as well do this for Suraya."

Aliya sighed, Harry turning his head, so he didn't have to look at Zain, and all the meanings littered between his words. At first, Harry had thought Zain reciprocated the feelings Zakariya portrayed, but he might have been wrong. Zain was stuck in the past. Like Harry was still crouching behind that wall, peeking out the alleyway, Zain was still writing letters to a guy who had failed him over and over again. Harry didn't know how to feel about Zain anymore.

"It's weird. Why wouldn't he tell me?" Aliya muttered, clearly upset that she had to learn about Zakariya's engagement from other people rather than Zakariya himself, in private.

"We should watch a movie. Batman." Aliya groaned, not at all impressed at the suggestion as she complained, _not again_! They must have watched that movie countless times for Aliya to be so done with it.

"Batman?!" Harry questioned, slightly amused at the choice. He had never taken Zain as a superhero kind of guy.

"Hey, it is a great movie. _No one_ , is too old to watch batman."

They both gazed at each other, smiling, for the first time in a while, at each other because maybe, they could for one day pretend their histories weren't so twisted. For tonight, they could pretend like they were good friends, enjoying each other's company without their complex feelings weighing down on them.


	19. THE MOONLIGHT RESEMBLES YOUR TOUCH

_Should I ask the night if it may let me touch his stars,_

_If it may let me bite its moon and steal its light?_

_So, I can shower in it,_

_So, I can resemble your dazzling whites._

_You're the diamond-like glows of the universe's brightest orbs,_

_and the fluorescent rivers running down gorges made of silver and gold._

_If I touch you, I may burn._

_If I lift my gaze to your opalescent face,_

_I may lose sight of all glittering, sparkling delights of the tangible world._

_Should I ask God if He may excuse me once,_

_If He may let me surge into your shimmering skin for a while,_

_A coruscating kaleidoscope of all things euphoric and exhilarating._

Aliya's phone buzzed next to her. Li Wei was his name. Her boyfriend. Aliya glanced at him sheepishly, placing the slice of pizza down in the box and cleaning her hands with a napkin. "I'll be quick." She muttered. Harry nodded, watching her go. He was concerned for her, truly. He didn't know why, but a certain sense of his told him she was in for great grief, and he didn't know how to tell her that. He tried once admittedly, but she didn't let him finish. "I know it. We both have thought about it already, so whatever happens, we'll be fine." So, Harry didn't dare steal her moments of joy however fragile and temporary.

Harry stared at the half-eaten slice, sitting in awkward silence with nothing but Zain's sound munching onto the pizza, and the low volume of an ignored batman movie. Harry contemplated picking up the food with his burnt fingers. The living room window was slightly opened, so the wind may have cooled it a little and it wouldn't hurt him to try. So, he did.

A hiss escaped past his lips, Zain's hand already on his wrist. Again. Harry wondered if there was a certain curse upon this day, for Zain to be constantly holding him and softening his angry lines for Harry, the nescient traitor. Harry placed his free hand onto his tummy, pressing into it to tame down the wild, hideous butterflies flapping their psychedelic wings as if spring had finally come.

Harry didn't dare. He hadn't the audacity to look up, watching rosy thorns emerging from the fissures of his skin. Spring...had yet to engulf Harry's flesh and mar it with its murky hues.

 _A coruscating kaleidoscope of all things euphoric and exhilarating._ How had Zain ever seen Harry as more than an ordinary boy?

"Be careful!" Harry closed his eyes. _If you're leaving...make sure you don't come back again._ "You're such an idiot. I never thought-" He sighed. Harry watched a star crash and burst. Zain's hand trembled slightly, letting go of Harry's hand, lashes fluttering anxiously.

"You never thought I'd turn out to be so...such a...fool." He chuckled. "I hope you learn to be disappointed and displeased every time I do or utter anything."

Harry could feel Zain's eyes on him. Coral-coloured roses began unfurling upon the thorns on his flesh, and glitter had begun shedding its shimmers from the sky. "Don't make me speak a word. If I do, it may fluster you."

Harry would be lying if he said he hadn't been starving to read such exhilarating, flattering words again, in the form of vintage, oak-hued letters with the prettiest handwriting Harry had seen in a while. He'd be a total nutjob if he ever said that he had never wished upon a star to hear Zain's voice- now that he knew it like the back of his hands- reciting him darling lullabies and everlasting sonnets.

"I'd do anything to go back and unmake my mistake." Harry admitted, guilt-ridden.

"I'd do anything to go back and be the first man."

"Be _anything_ , but in love."

"Maybe if you had realised it early enough, I'd just be disappointed and displeased today."

Harry licked his chapped lips, in an attempt to give water to dying roots. How would the roses keep unfurling if water nor sunlight could pour upon them? He leaned back, staring at his fingers where the sun was forever stuck in its setting. Red, orange, flame-like colours. "Truth is... _unknown lover_ , that if you knew anything about me at all, if you had been watching me from afar for so long, you'd know better. You'd know that if you came to me with your _aching fingers and tired eyes_ , I'd shelter you till my very last breath."

"I knew you'd do it. I just hoped you didn't." Zain picked Harry's half-eaten slice, the one that Aliya had been feeding him and reached it out to his mouth, looking at him like he'd just tore open a piece of him for Harry's ignorant gaze.

Zain had these two little sunbeams in his eyes that turned his hazels into soft aureate planets, glimmers of debris and twilight chrysanthemums apparent in their waters. The wind must have halted, the world may have inhaled sharply, hesitating to exhale. Harry had already done the unavoidable mistake of looking, and now that he did, he'd spend the remaining moments and days, making music out of suntanned skin, the aureate planets and their turbulent seas, and the perpetual abyss of Zain's feelings.

"Were you ever going to appear? If he...didn't lie...would you have come?"

With an exhale, the world collapsed back into place. "No." Harry turned his face away, chuckling bitterly. He realized he shouldn't have to feel guilty. Harry had let this mistake and remorse eat him alive every waking moment. He let it almost ruin his relationship with Elijah and now he realised that...it may have all been for naught. "I was already there. You just had to look, but you chose not to."

Staring may have become a form of communication between them. It seemed as if, without locking gazes for prolonged periods of time, they'd fail to understand the words they spoke. Somehow, if they weren't looking into each other with their wretched fates and sharp gazes, they'd underestimate the extent to which they meant their confessions, the power they held to inflict wounds into their mingling skins.

As the revelation dawned on him, Harry's heart scattered. Zain had been afraid. Not for himself, but for Harry, because he doubted at the very last moment that...what if it turned out ugly? What if the way he read Harry and his personality turned out to be wrong, and Harry'd be disgusted at his sight? Anxiety had crippled him right at the moment Harry entered that park, and he hid. What if they met, and fell in love, and somebody hurt Harry? Zain should be the one to be punished for his actions, not the boy with the _dazzling whites_.

And the boy with the dazzling whites, had foolishly _chosen_ not to see Zain that day. It cut right through him. Harry had seen a certain someone, behind the very tree in front of where Elijah waited for him. The raven, mid-night tresses. The slow steps as he walked away. Zain had turned his head sideways, looking at him over his shoulder, one last time as Harry embraced Elijah, and he'd disappeared into the fog of that day.

If Harry really had looked past his measly crush over Elijah, he'd know the differences. He'd know that Elijah's handwriting was different, his written and spoken words were different, less polished, and starry, more...ordinary. He'd know at least in that moment, when all Elijah ever had was stark, white paper instead of the _vintage, oak-hued letters_ he'd been receiving for years. Elijah had never possessed the fragrances of mimosas and camellias, the scent etched into the fragile papers Zain had written endless poems on.

"Zain." Aliya came in, her eyes shaded with red, lips quivering. Harry and Zain both looked up at her, concerned and alarmed. "Dad found out about Li Wei and they're after him and they're going to kill him and-"

"What-"

Aliya grabbed Zain's arm, her body desperate, her voice hysterical. "Come with me. Let's find him before they do. He told me where he is right now, and we _must_ go!"


	20. A STARVING ANIMAL OF SOME SORT

Aliya was a strong woman. Fierce and independent. Harry had thought, when he first met her and he only had the vague descriptions Benjamin provided him with, that she'd never make a mistake like this. Anything that could get her into trouble. She'd make sinful men repent and confess and bring them to their knees in front of her. But she was a human too and, she could fall in love too.

If there was anything in this world that could weaken a mortal, it was this. _Love_. If you had love, you knew you were screwed. Harry really did try to warn her.

Aliya opened the door, Zain right behind her. Brother and sister ready to set the world straight, foolishly. Harry was still by the living room door, looking into the corridor and the siblings' backs, an itch trickling down his spine. He frowned when they didn't move.

"Dad-" Harry squeezed shut his eyes, a piercing sound echoing in his ears. He had heard that sound before. It stung, still. A humiliating slap on the face. Harry wondered if there were still Jacob's fingerprints on his cheek.

Aliya's eyes made him open his eyes, Zain's protests awakening the reality around him. Hashim dragged Aliya, his daughter, through the corridor and into the living room by her hair. His fingers were scarlet, tangled harshly into her locks, her steps staggering. Once in the room, he threw her like one threw a ball into the field. Zain rushed to her side, her cries desperate. "Dad, what the fuck!"

"Dad don't do this. Please, don't do it. He's innocent. We'll part ways. We won't meet again or talk to each other or anything, just please don't do anything to him. Please."

Hashim, took off his blazer slowly, his demeanour dangerously calm. He sat down on the couch, leaning back, a leg over the other as he glared at her with his menacing, coal-black eyes. She kept muttering useless pleads, despite knowing deep down he'd never soften or listen or come to agree on a middle ground.

Harry winced at the pain, dripping down her cheeks and this room's walls. He must have landed back into his own bedroom, begging, and screaming and thrashing around, awaiting the authorities. Awaiting the announcement that he'd be imprisoned or worse...killed.

"How far did you both go?"

Aliya looked at him, distressed, shaking her head at whatever he was hinting. Zain held her in his arms, kissing the side of her head as if preparing her for what was to come. "Not...we didn't do anything...please dad, please."

" _How far did you go?_ " Hashim repeated, a greater emphasis and fury in his words.

She inhaled sharply, gathering her strength and courage. "Not enough for you to punish him so harshly. I swear. So, please just let him go. He'll leave town. I'll talk to him, I'll tell him to go far from here, to never talk to me again." She clasped her hands together, like one praying to God would do, in front of Hashim, her father.

There was no trace of the strong, fierce, independent woman Harry had been told about. She was on her knees, crying, begging to be freed. She was the woman who'd sacrifice herself if it meant Li Wei would get out alive. What was love if not grief and disaster? Love had gotten the sun setting at the sight of the moon, what was a small, frail woman to do?

Not moving his eyes from Aliya, Hashim ordered Zain to move away from her. He didn't. Of course, he didn't and Hashim knew it. He knew Zain wouldn't be an easy man to contain and so he did what he knew best to do. He procured a gun from his blazer's pocket, a smirk on his face, as he pointed right at Harry. It was as if the lethal disease of Hashim's mind had come to materialise in a soulless object with the power to shatter and kill.

It happened so fast, Harry didn't even have the time to process what had happened. All he knew was that he was down, white noise around him and there was this razor-sharp ache that went through his leg like somebody had dragged a knife along his flesh. When he lifted his hand from the wound, he saw red and nothing else. He gasped, breathing raggedly, hands shaking at the blood.

Flashbacks seized him, the tunnel and Elijah's warm hand. The dirty wall, the muddy waters, running, running, running. The roaring bullet shot. Flashlights blinding him as he struggled against the multiple hands laying on him, stopping him from seeing past the brightness. The blood by his feet, a trail coming down from the body laying five feet away. Elijah hadn't disappeared, like Harry thought. _He had been shot_. A sharp, hole in the middle of his forehead, his eyes still open but lifeless. He was staring right at Harry, unblinkingly.

"Zain, get the fuck away from me!" Aliya yelled, pushing Zain away. He was staring at Harry too, unblinkingly, like Elijah had done. Harry shook his head slowly. _Do not come closer. Don't. I will die_. Aliya crawled to her father, tears streaming down her eyes. "Don't hurt him. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I won't do this again. Just please don't hurt anyone. I-I'm the one who did this. Punish _me_. I'll take it. I'll take anything."

"Oh, you will darling. Don't think you're going to come out of this unharmed, just because you're my daughter. I will not hesitate to erase anyone that dares go against me."

Right on cue, heavy and rushed footsteps approached them. Li Wei, being held by two men in black uniforms. Hashim's guards. He was wounded significantly, blood covering up most of his face. He could barely open his eyes, and the little he could, Harry doubted he'd see anything not tinted with red. His body was weak, feet folding and unfolding as they dragged him towards Hashim.

Aliya screamed, getting up and dashing towards him, but two other men appeared by her side, holding her back as she quickly turned hysterical, sanity dropping through the floor. Harry gasped, pressing down on his own wound as if it'd make him feel better. He had seen this same scenario too and, reliving it...was no less than torture. And Aliya. Oh poor, little Aliya. What had she done? Harry could understand why it happened to him. His love was unconventional. He was a man who lover another man, but Aliya was not like that. There was nothing wrong she did in falling for a guy who'd die for her.

Li Wei was brought and let go by Hashim's feet, a groan making out of his mouth. Hashim didn't even spare a glance, his eyes only on his daughter and Harry wished he could see some pity in the man's eyes. There was nothing, of course. Men like Hashim, only cared about themselves and not anybody else. Even their own blood.

"Dad, it's enough. Let him go." Hashim looked up at Zain. The latter had his jaw clenched, hands closed into fists. Harry stared at him, hoping there was some way Zain could read his mind and sit the fuck down, because Hashim may hurt him too.

"What are you going to do about it, son?"

"He's barely alive. Just drop him somewhere and get this over with. You've already got blood in your hands, don't add murder to the list."

"It's not called murder. It's called protecting one's character, legacy, and dignity. Something that my children don't seem to know about."

Aliya was still crying out for mercy, Li Wei's groans and whimpers still echoing. Harry felt dizzy. _Sit down, Zain. Sit down. Don't say anything. Sit down. What if he hurts you too_? "There's something called your children's happiness, that you don't seem to know about either."

Hashim's expression morphed into one of fury and deadliness. He planted the mouth of the gun to Li Wei's wounded chest and pressed down hard, so much that Harry swore he could hear the meat being twisted. Li Wei moaned in utter pain. "Zain shut up! Just shut up! Don't hurt him, dad please. I'll do anything you say, please dad. Just don't hurt him..."

Aliya was grappled against the two broad men holding her. Harry had once struggled like that too. There was sheer agony dripping along her body. It smelled of torture, and rage, and forlornness. Harry wished he could do something, but each time he tried, he'd be hit by the past and he'd be knocked back down. He couldn't do it. He couldn't rebel because this time, he didn't have hope of survival.

"You'll do anything I say?" Aliya nodded, fervently, her courage crumbling right in front of her. "You see, if I kill him, I'll make it slow and painful and you wouldn't want that right?"

"No...no, dad." Hashim held out the gun on his palm, directing it towards her as if saying, _kill him_. "Dad, no. Please. Please let him go."

"Dad-" Hashim had really prepared. He had brought enough people to hold back any obstructions. He knew it would not be easy, if he hadn't planned beforehand. He hadn't gone on a business meeting that would last until tomorrow. No. He had gone to prepare a massacre. More people entered the house, more had come up behind Zain and held him down.

"It's your choice, Aliya. It's either a pain-filled, slow death or, you could do it yourself and end his suffering quickly."

Aliya kept muttering apologies and pleads and refusals, eyes squeezing shut, her voice raspy and body convulsing. Hashim leaned back, like a fucking psychopath, his gaze sadistic.

"Aliya..." All gazes turned to Li Wei, whose own gaze was upon his lover. He had his right eye half open, the other closed by a wound. "Do...it..."

Harry couldn't begin to imagine the sheer affliction Aliya was going through. Harry had never had to make such a decision. He hadn't had to do anything on his own. Elijah had died by someone else's hand...and it was so fucking painful, Harry was still waiting for the scars to heal. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if he ever had to harm Elijah himself. He'd rather have a limb cut off.

"It's the..." Li Wei coughed, more blood spilling out. "It's the...only way...I'll stay...away....s-so...do it. I won't...die by his...hands. _I_ _won't_."

"No. No. Dad please, let him go."

"Aliya!" He yelled, louder, the pain amplifying throughout his body at the effort. " _Kill me."_


	21. THE ONE WHO LEFT YOU BLEEDING

_Harry had been thinking for the past three days. Just thinking about fury and disappointment and forgiveness. About Elijah if he was to summarize it. Of course, it was a spoon-full of cowardly and a fistful of selfish what Elijah had done. He didn't have the right to steal someone else's feelings, and neither did he deserve Harry's affections like the other guy did. Harry would never forgive or forget Elijah for being such a trickster, but truth also was that Elijah_ loved _Harry. He did. He loved Harry in a fearless, I'm-going-to-melt-the-sun kind of manner. He wasn't afraid of loving a boy, and he wasn't afraid of what it may mean. He wasn't afraid of_ tragedies. _He was an avid Shakespeare reader after all._

_He walked around the park languidly, the leaves drooping under the weight of the long-gone rain and thunder. His heart hurt but he knew it'd be okay once he was able to move past what Elijah had done to get to him. Everyone was a little selfish at the end of the day, and it wasn't as if Elijah was faking it all this time._

_Now Harry recalled the boy he had seen walking away. It was sunny that day when he had seen Elijah with a red handkerchief. Under the giant, old tree sun rays pierced through the branches and returning leaves. Harry could only see the colours and no distinguishing features. He had spent less than a second wondering about that boy at that moment, but now here he was remorseful at how little he had thought about it all._

_There were two boys under the tree, and Harry chose to believe in Elijah, because he was so familiar and loveable, and he had these beautiful yearning eyes Harry loved so much._

_"Harry!"_

_The boy turned around. Elijah was running towards him, his hair flying back. It was dark today, since the weather was so gloomy but still, Elijah's eyes sparkled like a star that had just been born. Harry wanted to run to him too. He really did, but he thought he should still wait for forgiveness to come more naturally to him. Now, this didn't mean he loved Elijah any less than before, but disappointments were human. They happened and they made you a little more hesitant, and it delayed moments and all the love that could have been shared, becomes a little harder to consume._

_"Are you never going to talk to me again?" Harry watched Elijah now enough steps away from him to not seem suspicious to the other people walking around. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned his back to Elijah, knowing the latter would follow him anyway. "It was a harmless lie, Harry. I didn't hurt anyone."_

_"He was there!" Harry spoke, harshly, his steps more rushed. They couldn't speak so openly here. They had to hurry to their secret spot where Harry could tell Elijah exactly what had happened that day. Not only should Elijah be apologetic, but Harry too. He failed and ignored what was right in front of him, and it made him feel like shit. "I remember him." This time, Harry lowered his voice, almost to a whisper._

_Elijah grabbed his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. Harry jerked away from him, eyes wide and panicked. "_ Don't touch me! _" Of course, Harry didn't mean it the way Elijah understood. Instead, he was hinting at the public place, where many came and roamed, including both of their families. Doubt shouldn't even cross their families' minds or Elijah and Harry would be persecuted._

_"No one was there. What are you talking about?"_

_"He was running late. I saw him entering the park and looking right at us, but I, foolishly, had already taken you into my arms...and he hid."_

_"How is that my fault that he was cowardly enough not to clear the misunderstanding? Why didn't he come to you right that moment and tell you I was a lying bastard?"_

_Harry glared at him. He knew Elijah's thought process was wrong, and whatever he was saying was an idiotic justification, but Harry also didn't know how to respond to it. Why didn't that guy come to him? Was he scared? Of what?_

_Harry sighed, scuttled away from his lover, trying to clear his mind. Maybe the cold wind would help him. The sight of their secret meeting spot not far from him now, would maybe help him clear his mind and remember why he should be good to Elijah despite what happened. The admittance from the latter was not that delayed if Harry was to be honest. He could have very well never told Harry about it, or he could have waited till they were far too deep into this relationship, but he didn't. It had only been a week since they'd met in that park. Elijah was inherently genuine, that much Harry knew._

_Once they were past the exposure and danger of the outside world, into their little broken house they'd slowly decorated together. It was less cold and more pleasant, and when the sun rose in the sky with its searing oranges and reds, it was the perfect time to let loose inside it. Walls, fears, clothes all coming undone when the night was too dark to allow vision, and they'd both come to swallow the tropics of the day, licking the remnants of uninvited yearnings and cravings._

_The door slammed shut behind them, Elijah coming to wrap his arms around Harry from behind, his balmy lips closing down on Harry's tender skin. "I'm sorry." He whispered into his neck, his lashes tickling the curly lad's skin. "I was wrong. It was fucked the way I reached out to you, but you should know I would confess to you either way."_

_Harry turned around, chewing on his bottom lip, and watching as Elijah kneeled down in front of him, holding his hands with both of his and looking up at him. "I love you. I'm sure he must too, but...he made a mistake too, like I did. He should have come, and he didn't. I should have been clear with you and I wasn't, and_ I'm sorry _." Elijah pressed his forehead to Harry's hands, a teardrop making it to the latter's skin. "And I love you. That isn't a fucking lie."_


	22. IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD

The whole world had gone quiet. A moment of silence for those tormented. The walls and the thunder outside knew what had happened had been wrong, but they stayed silent. _Shhh, act lie you never knew. It's safer this way_. Aliya gasped, the gun falling down her hands. The sound echoed in the house, again and again, like a taunt.

She hovered her shaking, scared fingers over Li Wei's body, her own body convulsing as a kind of preparation. Everything would soon begin moving again. The stillness wasn't here to last, neither was the shock. It'd go and the sheer grief would strike her with potent force. It'd slam her down to the floor and it'd come in episodes of manic disaster.

Harry closed his eyes, unable to see her like this. There was so much pain here. And it'd only get worse. This was the silence before a storm. Harry wasn't ready for what was to come. He couldn't stay here, he couldn't watch, he couldn't act like nothing had happened. This was a common occurrence. People died all the time. Elijah had died too. But that was the problem. Death was _terrifying_.

Zain came down onto his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched his sister. He hadn't been the kind of brother she assumed him to be and now here she was, suffering for loving and above all, believing. Surely, having faith wasn't so wicked.

Hashim merely passed a hand over her hair, like it'd make it all better. He wasn't ashamed or sorry, he was proud. He had made his own daughter murder someone, and he was _proud_ of it. Harry had never found himself so disgusted with the man.

"Li..." Her hands cupped his face, staining themselves with the blood of her love and she repeated his name. Maybe repetition would bring him back to life. Things like that happened in movies. If she called onto him with so much belief and desperation and love, he'd wake up. "I'm sorry..." And when he didn't, she only had guilt and sorrow left to give. "I'm sorry...I didn't turn out...to be...like you thought. I'm sorry, Li Wei. I'm sorry."

Hashim stood up, holding his blazer, and walking away from the scene. He muttered something in one of the guard's ears, before heading for the door. Harry grabbed his leg, the only thing he could do if he wasn't to rush standing up and hurt his wound further. "What? You can't watch your daughter suffer now?" Hashim looked down at the boy. Harry's eyes were an ocean of grief, under which fire was threatening to break out. "You won't stay to watch the aftermath of what you did to her?"

Hashim stared at him and for a moment Harry thought he saw something human in his eyes, but he must have been mistaken. The man bent down, holding Harry's hand, and jerking it away from his leg. "You're in a very tight spot already, Harry Styles. I believe, you've learnt very well to mind your own business." And then he was gone.

Harry scoffed, his heart beating at a speed almost impossible. He wished he could kill Hashim. He wished he had the sources and the strength to make him suffer too, just like he must have done to a hundred others. He deserved torment and woe, everything amplified ten times more.

Zain had reached Aliya's side, holding her by her shoulders as she cried and muttered apologies into Li Wei's skin. "You couldn't handle it when I cried? How are you handling it now, Li! Wake up. Won't you wake up and tell me it's okay?" She held him by his filthy shirt's collar, shaking him and calling out to him, the reality too hard to accept. "Aren't you gonna wake up and get mad at me for crying? Are you really gonna break all the promises we made? Li Wei!"

"Aliya..." Zain held her tighter, trying to embrace her and assure her, but what was he to say? There was nothing right now that could soothe Aliya. No words, no magic potions, or lullabies.

"He told me he'd...he told me he'd dance with me, at the festival. H-he _promised_ , Zain. But he just..." Harry winced. Aliya looked at her brother, and Zain could see her life breaking apart, piece by piece. Right in front of him, her eyes lost their color and he couldn't do anything about it. "I killed him." She whispered, like the realization had just dawned on her. She panted, eyes wide as she glanced down at the gun next to her.

Zain threw the object away from her, holding her face as shook his head. "No. You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault!" Her hands still trembled, her breaths still came out panicked. She was shaking all over, barely surviving through this.

"I killed him. I killed him myself. I killed-" Zain continued assuring her, telling her nothing was her fault. "My hands...Zain..." She was on the verge of falling apart, her seams coming loose. "I-I-I...killed him." Zain pulled her to himself, hugging her taut and whispering reassurances in her ear, as if they'd work. It wasn't a harm to try, but all of them knew it was not going to work out like this.

Grief...this kind of grief...took years to go, and even then, it wouldn't go away completely. It'd just be there, at the back of your head, like an obnoxious ache and it'd slam at you at random moments. Life could never be the same after it.

It must have taken a long time for Aliya to come down from her mania. It didn't mean it was gone, it had just lowered its volume. The tears had dried out, but they weren't gone either and she sat there for God knows how long, watching her lover's lifeless body, his lips turning blue. All the energy had seeped out of her. She couldn't scream anymore, or cry or beg Li Wei to come back, but inside, there was only emptiness, a silently screaming heartbreak and _so_ , so much despondency.

She hardly noticed Zain picking her up, taking her to her bedroom and tucking her to bed. Her eyes were open, but she was blind to her surroundings. She was breathing, but she barely even realised it. Aliya would forever be stuck in that moment, where she picked up the gun her father offered her and shot a bullet right through her lover's chest. Li Wei's _kill me_ would forever haunt her, and she'd remain a little doll wondering if it'd be different if they had never met.

Harry felt for her. He knew separation was like being poisoned, but you didn't actually die, you just stayed in this eternal suffering and it'd never fade. As he inspected his wound, hours after Zain had tucked Aliya to bed, he was flooded with fears and doubts and this crushing, overwhelming feeling that there was an equivalent loss awaiting him too.

He didn't know how or why or what and when, but it'd happen. If he wasn't careful. Today had just been a demo for Harry. _You're in a very tight spot already, Harry Styles. I believe, you've learnt very well to mind your own business._ Mister Hashim wasn't the saint Benjamin so wanted Harry to believe. After losing so many memories, they thought they could manipulate Harry. He had no clue what Hashim's intentions were by giving him a job here, but there was something he must be planning. Was this a test for him? Was everything laid out cleanly, by his brothers and Hashim? Maybe that was why Sebastian was so hesitant about letting him go, because Sebastian was the only one that truly cared. He understood. Harry was petrified.

Sometime later, after wondering too much, he decided to make something for Zain and Aliya in case they'd miraculously eat something. Harry knew it wasn't going to be easy and definitely not for Aliya, but there was so little he could do for the siblings. He wanted to be a good friend to Aliya, but he just didn't know exactly how. This was the only way he knew how to, the only thing he was good at.

Holding a bowl of soup in his hands, he opened Aliya's bedroom door slowly. She had passed out after a while, but Harry thought she may have awakened. She hadn't yet. But there was Zain there, sat against the wall opposite to her bed, knees up and hands covering his pain-filled face. Harry felt his heart constrict.

He placed the bowl on her bedside table and crouched down in front of him, hissing slightly as his wound ached and holding his hands ever so softly in case Zain may break too. Zain kept his eyes closed, cheeks still wet as he let Harry uncover his face. Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat. "You're a good brother, Zain."

The latter shook his head, biting his bottom lip. "No...no, I'm not." He opened his eyes and with the dejected stars in his eyes, he spoke, "How could I let him do this to her? How could I..."

"It wasn't your fault. You were helpless and so was she."

A sob shuddered Zain's body, and ever so unexpectedly he took Harry into his arms. His hold was tight and desperate, and Harry wanted to let go, but he couldn't. He couldn't leave Zain aching, alone. He needed to be here for him and for Aliya too, and no matter how much his brain told him to leave this place and this family, he had gotten way too attached. He'd be unfaithful if he left them to fend for themselves now. They had no one other than him.

He'd stay because this time he knew better, and he could, and he'd do it. No more regrets.


	23. STORMY SUMMER NIGHTS

A month had already passed, and circumstances were nowhere near normal yet. That is, if normal even existed anymore for the Malik siblings. Aliya's condition was still unstable, her nights spent waking screaming and sweating, her days quietly looming with terrible yearnings and guilt and utter fury. She'd rarely remember her nightmares, but she'd feel the after-effects of them, her body exhausted, her head throbbing and she'd know. Li Wei's death haunted her every waking and sleeping moment, and if Harry was to be truthful, he feared she may lose her sanity.

They had gotten back to Lendann the day after the murder occurred, the talent festival long forgotten. And a mere two days later, Zakariya had entered the house and bombarded Harry's space in the kitchen. He knew instantly something had happened, asking Harry repeatedly about it. Harry didn't want to have to tell. He had learnt how close the siblings were with each other despite being from different mothers. They hadn't let their resentment of Hashim affect their relationship with each other, which in itself Harry thought, was beautiful. So, having to break this to Zakariya was a whole another task.

Zakariya had gone mad, as soon as he heard about his father's deeds. He had burst into the latter's office, daring a punch onto the man's face. If looks could kill, Hashim wouldn't have survived till this day. " _I didn't just agree to marry a random woman for you to break your deal and do this to her!_ " He yelled that day, and both Zain and Harry had been left dumbfounded.

Truth was, Zakariya's engagement had been so sudden and haphazard for no reason. He knew his father had found out about Li Wei, and in attempts of saving his sister's life and love, he had made a deal. A deal that Hashim didn't spend a moment thinking about before he broke it.

Since then, the two brothers had only focused on taking care of Aliya and helping her heal. They were patient and soft with her, the complete opposite of their father. This kindness must have come from their mothers, Harry thought.

Harry headed towards Aliya's door with two bowls of soup. It was fair to say, other than Hashim and Natasha no one ate at the dining table anymore. And unlike all those other times before, Hashim didn't insist for everyone to be there either. The door was ajar, so Harry opened it with his foot, passing a small smile to Zain who was sat next to Aliya, braiding her hair.

Aliya looked up at Harry too, but just as monotonously, she shifted her gaze back to her lap. She hadn't taken notice of her surroundings for a long while now. Harry understood, but he wished, just a little bit, that she could look at him for a bit longer and even if she couldn't say it with her mouth, her gaze would be enough. He wished she shared her feelings with him or even with Zain or Zakariya. Holding it inside was doing more damage than good.

"Has Zakariya gone home?" He asked, sitting opposite of the siblings, and passing one bowl to Zain.

"Yeah. Suraya wanted him to get started on the wedding shopping."

Harry had thought that Zakariya would break the engagement. If Hashim didn't keep his part of the deal, Zakariya wouldn't either, but at the end of the day Zakariya remained tied. He couldn't punish his fiancée for something she had no control over, and honestly, he didn't really want to remain single forever. He couldn't get the person he wanted, but he couldn't just stop living life because of that, right?

Harry reached a spoonful of soup to Aliya's mouth. She parted her lips, and slowly swallowed it down. He watched her softly, heart aching because this wasn't the Aliya he was so used to seeing. This was a mute girl, her eyes dull, her lips blue. She'd stop speaking and looking and playing around with everyone. She'd lost her shine, and Harry would never forgive Hashim for that.

Zain had finished braiding her hair, beginning to eat his own soup. "Thank you for everything." Harry continued feeding Aliya, humming as a response. "But you really should go now."

Harry looked at him, two seconds away from a glare. "I still have 3 months left."

Zain exhaled soundly, putting down his bowl on the bedside table. "You don't have to finish them!"

"Zain...I know you hate me for-"

"I don't fucking hate you. I don't." Zain glanced at Aliya, Harry's spoon hanging mid-air. He reached it to Aliya's mouth, but she didn't part her lips. She had barely eaten anything. This way her health would deteriorate further, and that would defeat the whole purpose of why he had stayed here after all.

But Harry knew better than to force her. It'd often trigger her anger and she'd yell at him and push him away and stay locked in her bedroom for the rest of the day. He didn't want that, so he didn't insist. He sighed, picked up the bowl of soup and stood up, walking back to the kitchen.

He didn't want to know what Zain had to say. Harry wanted to stay for Aliya, and Zain couldn't stop him from doing so. What was so wrong about him staying here anyway? Was Zain afraid he'd get too attached? Harry had been careful and distant, so he didn't make it harder for Zain. He knew there were feelings involved, but he also knew he didn't want either of them to end up like Aliya. He didn't want to relive the past.

Zain followed him outside, in the kitchen and he grabbed Harry by the elbow exactly like he had done the first time he told Harry to never come back. "I already told you I don't hate you. And I'm not disappointed or displeased either. I just want you safe. That's all I want."

"I _am_ safe." Harry had found himself lying more often. He had promised the pastor he wouldn't do that anymore, but this time he wasn't lying to hide a sin. He was lying to prevent it. "I'm just here to do my job. The only thing that'd get me in danger is feelings, and those don't exist in me right now. If you're afraid _you_ can't control yourself, then that's your problem."

_You look like I've kicked you away carelessly, dust coming off my shoes. Like I've dribbled you away and I've left you abandoned in the middle. You look like you've been thirsty for so long, you can barely hold your cries. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being the liar and the traitor you never expected me to be. To be the liar and the traitor, for the second time in a row. But I'm staying here for you too, why don't you understand? I want to be here with you a little longer, you should know. Don't make that face that looks like pain. Don't be so open and gone for me. You know who I am; you should understand why I'm doing this. I don't want to be mean to you. I don't want to see you hurt._

Zain released Harry from his hold and stepped away. He still stared _into_ Harry, through him and past him too. He looked like he understood, but what came out of his mouth next, had told Harry the opposite. "You're right. That's my problem. I'll never let it be yours."

Harry was a good liar and with it came all the acting. He must look so confident and unbothered to Zain when the truth was uglier inside. He was shattering. It seemed like someone was slashing his skin left and right and he couldn't do anything about it.

Zain turned his back to Harry, ready to leave but just at the last moment before disappearing into his bedroom, he turned back to the boy and smiled that sad smile Harry wished he had never witnessed. "You know why I...didn't tell you Elijah had lied to you?" Harry held his breath. That had been the whole mystery. "Because you were already enamored with him. Even if I had come at the right time and you had realized it was me, it wouldn't have changed anything. I'd still be on the side lines." His gaze roamed around the room , then at the floor. "I've never expected you to have feelings for me, not back then and not now. I just hoped..." _Don't say anything. Don't do it. Please don't._ "I won't anymore."


	24. PRETTY, LITTLE THINGS

Karina, the young, beautiful neighbour, once told Harry about her and Sebastian's tragic love story. Harry was still two months shy of turning 18, and Elijah was yet a distant crush in Harry's creative mind, rather than a reality. Sebastian was late from picking Harry up from school, and he had requested Karina to do the act. He'd be indebted to her.

Karina, unlike naïve Sebastian, did know that Harry had seen them together, and he had chosen to keep his mouth shut. You see, Harry like the secrecy. He liked to know something the others didn't, it gave him a certain kind of power. He was obsessed with it.

Karina, the beautiful lady from Parlink who had moved to Lendann just two years ago. She had lost her family in a fire that broke out at home and staying in her homeland blocked her healing process. She thought, it'd be a good change if she just moved somewhere far away, where memories couldn't creep onto her from even the most mundane things, like the toaster her sister had bought, or the swing at the old park her brother had once fallen off of.

On their walk home, Karina told him a tale of a young couple who nurtured no fears. This story wasn't about the tragedy that striked poor Romero and Julieta. That one, Harry had heard way too many times. So many times, he had begun seeing it as merely fiction, though it was a true tale of young, foolish love. A grand story about forbidden love and sacrifice, and enmity and forgiveness.

This story was about Karina and Sebastian. Truth was, they never were trying to hide from the monsters. Just like Anna and Kai in the religious stories the priest recounted to Harry and his brothers every Sunday in the oldest church in Kardishire, Karina and Sebastian were messengers of love. They wanted to show everyone it was okay, that they'd die for each other. The world was shrinking into this chaotic, evil, little core and what would be stronger than hate? Love. Sebastian and Karina believed love could conquer it all. It wouldn't matter if they lost their lives battling this hate and division in the country, as long as it was worth it.

It never worked out though. Karina was of a different race, just like Li Wei had been and so, this was Benjamin and Jacob's best chance at being promoted in their societal ranks. A bit of a sacrificial ritual where family was just another name for betrayal. Harry was there. When Karina was killed brutally. Her throat was slit, her hands hammered to the ground. They didn't even close her eyes before burying her in a far away forest, next to a random tree, so that even if Sebastian wanted to visit her grave, he'd never be able to.

The night Sebastian lost Karina was the darkest night of his life, just like losing Elijah had been Harry's and just like losing Li Wei, had been Aliya's. The only difference was Aliya and Sebastian didn't have to go through a long identity erasure process. They didn't lose bits and pieces of memories, they didn't harbour guilt the way Harry did at the mere revelation that Elijah knew. Talk about Li Wei being adamant about being hurt by his lover's hands. Talk about Karina dying for Sebastian to continue his journey of spreading love. Elijah died to merely save Harry from confronting the fact that Jacob aimed the bullet right at Harry. Elijah was never meant to die. It was Harry.

How could Harry do as Zain asked, and leave this place where he found a genuine friend in Aliya and a second lover that Harry certainly did not deserve? Going back to Kardishire would mean facing Jacob and remembering every passing second that he had wanted to kill Harry all along. Going back to Kardishire would mean knowing that William and Benjamin had sent him here as a test for how well he behaved in the presence of other young men, rather than as a distraction from the cruel stares of their neighbours. Going back would mean relying on poor Sebastian to save him when he couldn't do that for himself and Karina.

Harry was forcing himself into a world that never invited him in.

So, he stayed, and he stopped thinking about what would happen once his job here was finished. He had a month left and he wanted to be here for as long as he could. He had stopped visiting home during these last months, even though Sebastian missed him dearly and wished him a quick and safe return. Harry had no plans of doing that. He missed Sebastian too. He was the only brother Harry would give his life for, that was how much he loved him and empathised with him, but Harry could not return home to him now. It'd kill him.

"Harry." Aliya was still fidgety, and not quite like a ray of sunshine, but she was better. She smiled every once in a while, and she had begun sharing her remorse, her helplessness and grief with Harry, which was such a relief to the latter. "It's first day of university. Should I go there like the sun is etched into my chest and, pretend like me and Li Wei were never close, or should I go like I'm mourning a _friend_?"

Harry sighed, stood up from her bed and held her by her shoulders near the window. "You should go as the girl who found the strength to wake up today and decided to fight."

Aliya rolled her eyes, gazing out the window at Spring rolling in with its butterflies and daisies. "Only...I've decided to give up."

"No. You haven't, 'cause you're here and you're going out there, and despite everything that happened and everything that _will_ happen today...you're going to be just fine."

He took Aliya into a soft embrace before pushing her slightly towards the bathroom, so she can go freshen up and change. He headed back to the kitchen, preparing breakfast for everyone.

Zain had gone back into hiding. Aliya was getting better, and she was getting closer with Harry, so Zain didn't have to invest much time into a tormented sister anymore. Zakariya was barely here, spending his days shopping and courting the fiancée, and Zain had no longer had an enamoured brother to deal with either. The only plus side to Zakariya being in love was that Zain had someone to be intimate with someone, and not in the physical sense. Zain no longer could be truthful about what he felt, and he no longer could project his insecurities and fears and tears onto Zakariya, because Zakariya was the only one who'd listen and understand.

Harry had denied Zain entry too, so what else could the man do? Who else could he go to? Harry knew Zain felt alone. It was there in his eyes, when Harry brought him his meals to his bedroom, and it took everything in Zain not to let his sight linger. Sometimes, he wouldn't even peek. He'd just open the door and turn his back onto Harry, wait for the latter to place the tray of food on the bedside table and leave. He'd _yearn_ for Harry to leave, so he could close the door and perhaps, shed a tear or two to store in jar. One day he'd torment Harry with the said jar. _Look, this is how much I cried over you. This is how much you've made me self-loathe and self-pity and go on excruciating quests to finds the pieces of my heart every time you broke it. Look at me, and the curse that looms over my head where you're a lover not meant for me, and I have to keep living knowing it. I cannot move on, I cannot heal from the constant heartbreaks; I cannot die and yet, I do not live either._

"Fear is man's biggest enemy."

Harry's eyes widened. He turned around in a quick, dizzying motion. The kitchen was empty of anyone but him. Harry used to describe that voice as warm vanilla. It often made Elijah cringe, and call Harry's efforts a lame attempt at being poetic.

"I thought we had promised each other to be good, Harry."

The green-eyed man turned sideways towards the second kitchen door that led to the garden. Almond eyes, still the perfectly waved golden hair. Elijah was there. Harry hadn't seen him in so long, and he knew he was hallucinating but it felt so real.

"I...I _have_ been good, Eli. And I've missed you." Harry whispered as if speaking a little louder would break the hallucination and he'd back to the biting loneliness of this day.

The sun had risen so wildly beautiful, and the sky was all splashes of warm, cosy colours. Elijah's frame was lined all the way with a soft amber light, and he looked ethereal. Harry could cry.

"You know this is not the kind of good I meant when we talked about parting ways."

"Why? Why did you jump in front of me and chose to die? It was supposed to be me." Harry could feel the rain pouring down on him, even though it was quite brightly sunny outside. It felt as if the sky had fallen upon him, even though one glance outside told Harry that everything was in its place, right where it was meant to be. And again, Harry was the only one stuck in one moment, looking out into the alleyway with a pile of secrets and unending terror. Maybe it was this fear that had given them out that night. Elijah could have been saved if Harry was just a little braver.

"It didn't matter. We'd still have to part." Elijah stepped closer, the amber light around him fading just a little. His eyes were the fuzziest Harry had ever seen. "You can let go of me now, Harry. It's been too long, and I need to go but you keep holding me back." Harry shook his head. "If you keep crying over me, my surroundings will be filled with your tears. I'm knee deep in this ocean you've created, and if you don't let me leave, I'll drown."

"I love you. I love you so much...how can you be so willing to go? Did you not love me back?"

"Of course, I did. But now, there's someone waiting for me up there. I have greater things stored for me, and there's someone waiting for you too. You don't have to be so saddened and scared all the time. Just open your windows, Harry. Let Spring return home." Before Harry could insist that he didn't love Zain, that he did not know how to move past Elijah and his grace, the latter stopped him. "Stop being so cruel to yourself, Harry. Just let him in."

"I can't lose him too." He whispered again, even quieter than before. He'd spent four months telling himself he hadn't fallen all over again. How could Elijah break him like this?

"Maybe you won't. You have to have faith in the _maybes_ , or life will keep shutting you down. Nothing is ever certain."


	25. MY LIPS ADRIFT IN YOURS

Harry awoke at 4am. The sun was supposed to rise at 37 minutes, and it would take a while to get out of the house, climb up the little hill at its backside so he could sit there and revel in the Sun's rising glory. A warm-hued sky was always a great way to relieve a little bit of the stress, to cleanse a man of his deepest fears.

He grabbed a bottle of water and his phone, tip toeing out of his bedroom, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw Zain coming up the stairs. Zain halted, staring at him. He looked so dejected, like living life had come down to only surviving.

Zain's gaze shifted, his lashes fluttering as he slowly continued his way up the stairs. He didn't ask Harry why he was awake, or where he was going. No. He just walked past Harry, silently, heartbreakingly. And Harry knew it was tough, to ignore, to avoid, to accept the fact that there was love just not for him, but Harry also knew that Zain was admitting something that wasn't even true to begin with. What did Zain know of expectations and useless options and Harry's heart?

Harry grabbed Zain's elbow to stop him, and as the latter turned around to face him with all his mighty surprise and lovely curiosity, Harry let his hand loose to come around his wrist and his hand. With his fearful fingers and a tremoring heart, it took all the energy for Harry not to falter now.

"Come with me?!" It didn't come out neither as an order nor as a request. It was a question and yet, somehow, Zain had spoken like this enough, to know that Harry meant it. It wasn't something Harry wanted Zain to reply with a yes or a no. That'd be too simple. _I'd like you to come with me and hear me out, and tell me_ _I'm_ _crazy, and tell me to leave or to stay._

Zain nodded, and without a single word exchanged they quietly made it out the back door of the house. It might have taken a whole two minutes to close the door carefully as to not awaken his father.

Zain, behind Harry- with his hand still being held by the receiver of Lord knew how many letters and confessions- just stared and followed and wondered. The streets were deserted, the sun was yet to rise but Zain was already more alive than he had been a few minutes ago.

Every touch meant gold when it came to Harry and his flower-like hands. Lips like spring blossoms with the prettiest cherry tint, as if some fairy had poured upon them the glittering stardust from Earth's dearest and sweetest herbs.

Harry was Zain's sole reason for life, his only purpose of breath and the most darling justification for why God existed.

All the way to the top of the hill, neither of them said a word. It seemed as if they spoke before it was time, the sky would split open and let its wrath fall upon them. Their tale would end before it even began, and what would be the point of Elijah's little rendezvous if Harry didn't even get to taste a second blasphemy at the tip of his tongue?

Finally, there were still ten minutes left for the sun to come up, and flood the world with brightness enough to pry open judging eyes. Harry turned, and he watched as Zain stopped facing him. He waited, swallowing down unnecessary words, trying to come up with enough that would satisfy his desires. Zain's eyes, and the little beams in them, and his pretty pink lips and all the ten _aching_ fingers, they all held their breath.

Unable to look without losing his shame, Harry focused on the trees and their naked branches far, far away, and the rest of the hills and the caves they called their temples and corrective centres. Harry took a deep breath, squeezing Zain's hand.

"That cave, to the left...the third one...I was there. The entire spring and summer and a few of the harsh winter months. There was a pastor there...we all had one specifically assigned...and for so long...that pastor was the only person I could communicate with. I was lonely, and heartbroken...and confused and bits and pieces of my life kept slipping away from my memory, and I couldn't figure out why or how."

Harry felt Zain's fingers closing around his tighter. "I was so scared, the night me and Elijah were caught. I had never felt this terrified before, and you know what was on my mind while me and him ran around the town that night?"

He glanced at the man behind him again. "That maybe...if I hadn't mistaken Elijah for you...if I hadn't hurt you...I thought it was karma. And I thought I was going to die. I was supposed to anyway."

Inhaling shakily he continued. He knew he was wasting time, but he just wished he could explain everything. He wished he could take Zain step-by-step through his entire thought-process of what he was going to do and why it had to be done. He couldn't though, because he was severely lacking in clarity and words and perhaps sanity. And the sun was about to rise.

"I had my own brother pointing right at me and I loved him so much, Zain. It was excruciating."

Zain stood by Harry, looking ahead too at the first rays peeking from behind the loud trees. He sighed. Harry tugged at his hand, like a child seeking attention, and Zain gave him it. He had waited too long to be able to let his sight linger, to delay the moment when he had to eventually shift his gaze and act like nothing between them was real.

"I guess...I want to tell you that I'm terrified...and specially after what happened to Aliya, I'm almost paralysed with fear. But before the sun comes up today and people start waking, I...I want to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything. Your secrets will always be safe with me." Zain muttered, daring to step closer to a scared boy with the prettiest emerald eyes.

Harry nodded, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He was probably holding Zain's hand way too tight, but Zain didn't show any sign of pain even if it did hurt, and he was looking at Harry so invitingly. He looked so safe, and so much like...family is supposed to feel. Even when he had put on that façade of hating Harry and telling him to never come back, Harry never truly felt insecure or defenceless in front of him. In fact, Harry was confident and he talked back and gave Zain a piece of his mind and he liked that.

Harry smiled. It must have come as near-shock to Zain if his expression was any hint. Even though it was a little shaky, and Harry's hands were sweaty and the closeness between them almost made Harry collapse. It was insane.

"Or maybe I could just show you instead."

Zain frowned, didn't have a second to question it before Harry was all over him, in ways Zain had only wished. He had never even dreamed anything about such a moment, where he'd get to taste the sugar along Harry's lips, to feel the flutter of his lashes and the bewitching way he had a hold on Zain's entire existence.

It was so sudden, so immensely exhilarating that Zain had to take a step back, to grab Harry's shoulders and pull away and stare at him: _am_ _I_ _dreaming or are you really here and_ _I'm_ _going insane?_

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat, passing his tongue along his lips because he was sure they had never tasted sweeter. The very ravishing essence of Zain all over his lips was close to driving Harry over the edge.

"Don't waste time. Please. The sun is about to come up, people are going to see us."

"What are you doing?"

Harry took a moment to think. What was he doing? This was going all wrong. He had imagined Zain would understand, that he wouldn't have to say anything because only Zain was good at words. Harry could barely even speak.

"I'm kissing you. I'm kissing you on top of a hill, which is a very risky place, and somebody's definitely going to see us and I'm so fucking scared, but...but I'm...falling for you and I don't know how to stop and if you don't tell me to leave...if you won't tell me how much you hate me, it's going to be very hard...so just..." Harry was rambling. His brain was all going haywire and he _could barely even speak._ "...so just tell me to go and never come back."

He closed his eyes, tears escaping past them. He released Zain's hand from his hold and stepped back, and he wished there was a tree or a lamp post or a wall behind him so he could just depend on it to stay standing. He could die right about now.

"How do you expect me to let you go now?" Zain whispered and from the ten feet away that Harry stood, Harry could hear every word as clearly as if he'd been standing too close.

Zain approached him, holding Harry's hand again and placing it on his chest, at the left side, over his heart. Harry could feel the rush, the hunger, the speed at which his heart was beating. Zain was looking at him like the world had ended and all it left behind was a few fistfuls of love.

"You know how long..." Zain inhaled sharply, his lips parted as if he was starving. Still holding Harry's hand, the sun rays beginning to shine upon the world, Zain took him away from the top and somewhere down.

They passed along the wide, naked plane of the hill, going a little downwards where trees began crowding the space. The perfect place, hidden from the sky and away from the streets and houses.

Harry's back touched the trunk of a wide, old tree, the branches above sheltering him from the light. He waited, fearfully and insecure and so vulnerable.

Zain cupped his face with his tremoring hands, his eyes watering as he looked at Harry, long and careful as if he was looking for lies or pity or deceit. Harry could barely keep his own gaze from Zain's face. "Three years, _Harreh_ , I've waited-"

"Shhh." Harry gasped and placed a finger upon his lips, then slowly as if letting the reality sink in, he lifted it off. "Say that again."

Harry didn't have to specify. " _Harreh_." Zain smiled and Harry smiled back because it felt so good! So fucking good, it was ridiculous. " _Harreh_ _,_ _Harreh_ _, Harreh-_ "

"Just kiss me." And Zain did.

It felt like home. Long time coming, a star burning at the tip of his tongue, a moon coming alive, a bird humming a love song. Harry rose to his toes, reaching and holding Zain like one held onto a dream, a sky. But that wasn't what Harry found the most pleasurable experience. Zain's hands were shaking incessantly, even his lips quivered making it harder to go on about the kiss. They kept breaking away and coming back to each other.

The little seconds they'd break away, Zain barely was able to look into Harry's eyes. His breaths were ragged, cracked on the edges, his cheeks wet with tears.

"Don't cry." Harry whispered, but Zain merely shook his head, grinning like an idiot. His cheeks tinted with naïve love.

"No, no. This isn't...it isn't sadness." Harry nodded. He knew. "I'm just...I can't believe...you're..."

Harry pulled him to an embarce, and he cuddled the man because he knew. It had hurt. The waiting, the being forgotten and ignored, the having to stay away even when standing so close.

"I know. I know, love."


End file.
